


Acceptance

by noclue_noidea



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noclue_noidea/pseuds/noclue_noidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch's defeat has terrible consequences. As fear and darkness fade, the Guardians find out there are far worse threats to children than simply destroying their faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time flows

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First Rise of the Guardians fic here, and a kinkmeme fill, for that matter. You can read the prompt at this adress: http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/3036.html?thread=6789340#cmt6789340. (I don't know how to post links.) I won't post the full prompt here because it reveals too much.  
> There will be slash (of a kind) and it's highly possible the rating and the warning will change a bit.

George Burgess had been a collector all his life. It started when he was a child, one day when he read a horrible string of insults engraved on the school’s bathroom wall. He mouthed the words, silently at first, then in as low a voice as he dared. He learned them by heart, and kept them there. And a few weeks later, when the Folksworn brothers came to him for his lunch money, he screamed the words in their faces, fiercely, passionately, as if casting a terrible curse. The brothers stepped back, stupefied, for never before had timid, breakable little Georgie dared even to look back at them. And what terrible noise he made now! He looked like a banshee, shouting himself hoarse, teeth watering with obscenities no seven-year-old should ever hear. The racket brought attention, attention brought sanction, and while George was punished alongside his bullies, he never was bothered again – at least, not by them.

Words have power, and words one believe in have even more power. George started to collect them, as naturally as other kids collect leaves or cards.

Terrible curses and violent language, that was enough at first. But time passed and other bullies came, other kinds of darkness, and George found the need to find better weapons. He started delving into the adult section of the library, searching for the foulest, most frightening notions he could find. He dipped his mind in the meanest words and hunted crime novels and horror stories. Nothing was too much. Even if, at times, he was terrified and disgusted, he went on with the warming thought that, soon enough, what scared him would scare others for him.

It certainly gained him a reputation.

The habit never disappeared, not even when he reached adulthood and did not have as much to fear anymore. In time, though, it mutated. Words and ideas weren’t enough anymore. He was fascinated, enamoured, by the contents of some of the old books he had found.

Dark rituals. Summoning circles. 

Demonic deals.

It pulled at him, yet he just read and thought. There was a wall, there, that he didn’t dare to breach. Using words as weapons was well and good, but George drew the line where other powers – living powers, powers that could not be instrumentalized so easily – were used. George might have been a little weird, at least according to his coworkers, but he was not ignorant. He read the description of some of the demons, and he felt fear. He vowed never to cross that line.

So why did he cross it one day?

He couldn’t tell. He stood right there, two feet away from the large summoning circle lit by countless candles, holding the Book of Light in one hand, a ceremonial sword in the other. He read the words aloud, the very words that he was so scared to even mouth before. He made all the right gestures. He completed the ritual. And he waited.

He didn’t even know what he wanted. The only certainty in his head was curiosity. 

In the center of the circle, a shape started to form. 

George stared, petrified, as two gigantic tails slashed through the smoke-thickened air, and four eerily large paws clawed at the ground. The body – the _bodies_ – were massive, yet sleek, like a snake’s. And at the top, where both necks converged, a head, just one, opened a tremendous maw seemingly full of nothing but fangs. 

“Who _dares_?” roared the head.

George almost dropped the book. But the fear, which a few months ago would have washed over him like a flood, barely dripped over him. He looked the demon in the eye and felt only elation.

“O Romrothea, Demon of Light, I bind you through this circle, and to my will!”

Scarlet eyes narrowed. “You dare.”

George went on: “You are hereby obligated to serve me in whatever way I see fit, according to the ancient laws!”

A great red paw rose in the air and fell down like lightning, ready to strike at the human. It was stopped mid-way, suddenly. The beast tried again, more cautiously. Its claws scraped against some invisible barrier, making a sound not unlike the screech of a piece of chalk on a blackboard.

George cringed. He had always hated that sound. But he stood tall, and unafraid, and even a bit proud. Hell, he started to _smile_. “As I said –” he began.

“What do you seek from me?”

George stuttered, and hesitated, unsure. Should he act offended at the interruption, or pleased at the demon’s good will?

Also, what _did_ he want?

Finally he settled for: “I seek knowledge. I want to know… I want to know what can hurt and frighten my enemies away. Yes, that’s what I want. Give me that.” Something in the wide hanging mouth staring him down made him add: “Please.”

There was an instant of pure stillness, then the demon bowed, double neck bending in graceful arcs. “So it shall be, Master. Would you like a demonstration?”

George brightened up. “Yes! Yes, of course! Er, proceed.”

“Very well.”

The demon stood up. Only then did George realize it had been crouching, almost crawling, like a beast cramped in too small a place. Swept by his all-too-rare feeling of elation, he didn’t worry about it. He gripped the book in one hand, the sword’s handle in the other, and grinned like a child at Christmas. How happy he was, and how clever he had been, to choose to invoke a Demon of Light, reputed as one of the weakest species!

The demon had seemed huge before, now it dominated him with all its mass, and it was staggering. In its backs, four immense, feathery wings spread out, filling all remaining spaces of the cave. Bits of rocks dissolved when the featherpoints touched them. 

The demon’s bodies, originally a dull red, was now glowing. Something like fire, an internal light of sorts, started to built beneath the skin, transforming the giant creature into a living, waking lightbulb. It climbed up its bodies from claws to feathers, lava mounting inside a volcano. _It’s beautiful,_ thought George.

Two seconds later he was dead.

His sight went first, in the burst of uncontrollable light that erupted from the demon. Then his body turned to ash in an explosion of fire. The sword didn’t even have time to clatter to the ground – it had entirely melted before gravity took it down. As for the book, it might as well have never existed.

It took a few minutes for the light and the fire to disappear. And there stood Romrothea, wings still spread, eyes closed in bliss. It stayed still for a moment more, then, slowly, stepped forward. The circle had disappeared. It stretched its necks, yawning. Its eyes fell upon the molten remains of the sword.

It spoke, warmly, contentedly. “Here is your knowledge, human. I am a Demon of Light, who dwell in full sight of all. Mortals cannot see me, except in two things. In ritual, as you did. And in fear. In fear, I am visible. In fear, I am vulnerable.”

It sniffed the air, wide maw grinning red. “But I felt it when I tested your summoning circle. Fear is fading. Fear is weak.”

It scooped a bit of the liquid metal by the tip of one of its tails, and let it drip back onto the ground. “My kind left centuries ago, when fear was most potent, frustrated by the challenge, bored of hiding. I left not long after, when an encounter almost threatened my life.”

It looked around, noticing the little door the man had taken to enter the place. Using a claw, it knocked on it, delicately. “I thank you for your gift. I will be making brilliant use of it.”

The claw shattered the door in a million pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the prompt suggested, a lot of Romrothea is taken directly from Johane Matte aka Rufftoon's comic "Light and Shadow", which you can read on Deviantart (as well as other amazing comics). The demon she created is so fantastic-looking I just couldn't change a thing.  
> I hope the name Romrothea is not too ridiculous. It has no meaning whatsoever.  
> The Guardians will start to appear next chapter.  
> Virtual cookies for anyone who guesses why I called our unfortunate summoner "Burgess" (and no, it has nothing to do with Rise of the Guardians).  
> And as always, since English is not my first language, don't hesitate to point out anything that hurt your sense of grammar or spelling (or logic).


	2. Night falls

In Burgess, everything was well.

Jack should know, he spent most of his time there. Even if, since he became a Guardian, he had been encouraged by the others to go further and make new connections, no matter how far he went and how many children he met, he always came back to his home, and to the small group of kids that made it so. A few years had passed, he was more powerful than ever, more attuned to the world than ever, and more full of life and happiness than he could ever remember being – but even when he made it snow on toddlers in the Sahara desert, or froze some part of the Amazon river for the local kids to skate over, he never had more fun than with Jamie Bennett and his friends.

They had started to grow up, of course. Jamie had now entered his teens, and seemed to be getting taller each time Jack saw him. Cupcake had developed into a fearsomely energetic young lady, quick of temper and loud-mouthed, but still deeply sweet and caring when one dared to look behind her aggressive exterior. The others were changing just as well, and staying the same in exactly the right ways. Burgess was Jack’s garden, and the children, flowers blossoming in the snow. He would exchange them for no other kids in the world.

So here he was, perched on his staff like a big snow owl, breathing in the fresh september air and watching his latest masterpiece.

It was about six feet high, neat and gleaming and so lean it should have been physically impossible for the snow to hold – but that was one of the advantages of being him, snow held. All the time. And that was lucky, because he had taken great pains, and a surprising amount of time, to make sure the posture was perfect. The snowman was standing just behind the wall, arms extended into claw-like hands, its vaguely human face distorted into an evil sneer. And on the wall, as he had been all afternoon despite the chilling air, so enthralled by his reading that he hadn’t heard a thing, was Jamie.

Only a few pages were left. Soon the boy would close the book and look up. His eyes would then catch his reflection on the transparent wall of the bus shelter facing him…

Any second now…

Jamie sighed, happily, closed his book, and looked up.

It took him exactly one second to let out a bloodcurling scream and fall off the wall, about the same time it took for Jack to fall off his staff laughing.

Jamie, after checking behind him and realizing what it was that had startled him so, turned around at the noise and saw him.

“Hey! Jack Frost! No fair!” Of course, he couldn’t help it: he started laughing as well.

Jack leapt in the air and landed on the wall next to the young boy and his latest creation. “Aww, he just wants to make friends! Do you have no heart?”

“He looks like he’s about to eat me!”

Jack eyed the snowman with all the gravitas of an art critic. “Hmm, you’re right, he does look famished. Care to give him a carrot?”

And he handed Jamie just that.

The boy looked at the vegetable, then at the snowman. A huge grin split up his face. He took the carrot and jabbed it in the middle of the abominable face. He then stepped back to admire his contribution to the sculpture. 

The carrot stuck out of the grimacing face like the world’s most colorful and elongated nose.

Jamie burst into new peels of laughter. 

Even after all this time, the sound of Jamie’s mirth still warmed Jack’s heart. He stood there for a few seconds, a soft smile on his face. Jamie might have been growing up, but at his core he was still a child, still ready for random moments of fun.

“When did you build it?” Jamie asked, climbing back on the wall to have a better look at the snowman. “It’s so detailed! It must have taken you hours!”

“Oh, you know, I just froze time. Didn’t I tell you that’s part of my ice-some powers?”

Jamie cringed teasingly. It had become a game between them for Jack to make awful puns Jamie pretended to be disgusted about.

“No, seriously, you did that when I was reading?”

Jack nodded. In truth, even if his sneak-building had been helped by the ambiant noises and Jamie’s eyes being continously riveted to his book, he was a bit surprised the boy never noticed anything at all. Only a few months before, in early summer, he had tried pulling this exact same trick and been found out exactly fifty-seven seconds after starting. It was as if Jamie’s alarm sense was offline for the moment.

Jamie was still staring at the snowman. “He seems familiar. Did you build him from a model?”

Jack nodded again. 

“Who was it? Wait! Can I guess? I can guess, right?”

Jack furrowed his brow. “Er…”

“I know! The old librarian! No? It looks a bit like him. Or maybe my uncle Jeff…”

“It’s nobody you know,” said Jack quickly. “Besides, how many people do you know who have teeth like that?”

Jamie glanced at the sharp fangs gleaming between the snowman’s snarling lips. “Oh, yeah. That’s a great detail!”

“Thanks.” 

But Jamie had now noticed the time given by the clock on the bus shelter. “Oh no! It’s almost dinner time! I’m gonna be late!”

“That’s what reading does to you!” teased Jack.

Jamie gave him one last brilliant smile. “Thanks for the laugh, Jack! Be seeing you!” And he took off like a rocket.

Jack stayed where he was, watching the kid disappear around a corner. Then he looked askance at the snowman he’d spent so much time to build.

The resemblance was uncanny, if he dared say so himself. High cheekbones sharp enough to cut skin. Hair sliced back like a porcupine’s coat. Eyes so large and expressive… 

“Hi Pitch,” he said to the snowman. “Long time no see.”

The snowman didn’t answer. 

(Try as he might, Jack had so far been incapable of injecting life into snow.)

Carefully, almost reverently, Jack took the carrot out of the sculpture and smoothed out the damage it had done.

“You finally managed it, old man. You scared the living hell out of Jamie.” He smirked at the grimacing face. “Oh! not for long. Jamie’s awesome that way. Can’t keep him down, that’s for sure.”

He hopped on the wall and started drawing frost figures on it with his staff. 

“For what it’s worth, though… I’m sorry. I’m sorry he doesn’t remember your name, not that you couldn’t kill us all – don’t get too excited. I guess there’s a part of him that keeps some memories of you, buried somewhere deep. But when I tell him your name he doesn’t even blink. I wasn’t even sure he would be scared of you tonight. Maybe you could call that an experiment.”

He sighed. “I feel a bit… guilty, I guess. Once again, I want to be clear, not guilty that you got yourself hoist with your own petard! You deserved that. It’s just… Here I am, happiest I’ve ever been, and more and more children believe in me every day, and even kids from Manaus are starting to know my name and I tell you, that was sooo not a piece of cake – and, in a really, really screwed-up way, it’s all thanks to you. You created the conditions for my becoming a Guardian, and helping the others and, and being _seen_. Without you I’ll still be the lonely messed-up ghost from Minnesota.”

He playfully nudged the unmoving figure. “Yeah, I know that wasn’t your plan! And I know I should be grateful you didn’t win. And I am, really I am. I guess maybe I was using a wrong word. What I feel, perhaps it’s not guilt… maybe it’s just regret.”

He turned to fully face the snowman. “I remember what you told me. In fact I remember it so well it amazes me, since, you know, memories, not my strong suit.” A low chuckle. “How it feels to be cast out. To long for company. For someone who understands. And the expression on your face. I know you were trying to get me to join you because you realized I was powerful and could be a threat to you, but… each time I think that, I remember your face when you said it.”

The snowman kept quiet as the sun went down. Jack kept talking.

“I wish it could have been different. Maybe if I had met you earlier… No, scratch that, I’m sure that’s a terrible idea. But if things had gone more slowly, if we had talked more, if I hadn’t been so caught up in my own problems – also, if you hadn’t been such a jerk! – Then, yes, maybe we could have, I don’t know, reached something. A truce, or an agreement. None of the Guardians really wanted you gone, at least I don’t think so. They’re just really protective of children, and you definitely weren’t on your best behavior there. Can’t fault them.” A sigh. “But no matter how much I try, I’m not sure I can fault you either.”

There was a instant of silence as darkness crept over the town. Jack watched the tendrils of blackness stretch out towards the dying lights, the humans’ shadows expanding as they hurried to their homes.

“How are you, anyway? I mean, I know you look like a masterpiece right now, thanks to little old me, but inside?” He lightly tapped the snowman’s skinny chest with his staff. “I came to your old bedsite, to see if you got out. I came several times, at different moments, and there was no trace of you, or of your nightmares – not even the hole in the ground. I even got a bit stupid last Christmas and tried to _dig_ the hole – and don’t laugh: I was going to bring you hot chocolate. Granted, I fully expected you to throw it back at my face and I would have frozen it right as you tried, just to see the look on your face! But at least I would have seen you, what you were doing. And nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

The shadows were crawling up his legs now.

“Okay, confession time: I asked Toothiana about your tooth, the one she – eh – took from you. I asked her what she thought of it, I mean, what she felt from it. She told me your memories were, and I quote, ‘a confusing mess full of pain, isolation and loss of purpose.’ When I told her I didn’t understand half of what she meant, she told me she didn’t either. That’s how baffling you are. That’s when I started to think about you, all alone, down there. As if you didn’t exist anymore.”

The shadows surrounded him now. Gone silent, Jack peered into the darkness.

After a while, he stood up, called the wind, and flew away.

* * *

 

A graceful dragon danced through the air. An adorable puppy chased after a bouncing ball. A proud lady warrior protected her darling little boy from the jaws of the shark. A fairy-star smiled down from the sky.

Up on his golden cloud, the Sandman smiled as his latest creations, born both from his craft and the imagination of sleeping children, swept through the homes and the skies. He should have been used to it, yet a part of him still marvelled at the beauty of it. In the Sandman’s eyes, nothing could be more wonderful than children reinventing their world at night, when nobody could clip their wings and limit their hopes. His sand didn’t make the ideas happen; it gave them shape, strength, endurance. 

Each night, every night, Sandman was the director of millions of children’s movie scripts.

This night, however…

Something was different. It was a vague, almost remote feeling, like somebody calling through several layers of glass. It was spreading very slowly, very softly, like dripping glue – sticking onto the corners of his perception. He felt it first a few nights before, and all nights between, and each time, it was stronger. This night, it was worse.

Because whatever it was, it was starting to dissolve dreams.

Sandman had seen it before: dreams fading away or bursting like little bubbles, when they should have been at their most golden. It was generally a bad sign, a hint at a terrible personal life, a reality so bad even imagination and make-believe couldn’t keep it at bay. Sometimes Sandman could do something against it: sending stronger, healthier dreams, warming the child’s despairing mind with the certainty that somebody, somewhere, cared deeply for them. Sometimes, nothing could be done. He never gave up.

This time, though, it was different. The dreams weren’t disappearing because something dark in the kids’ minds kept them powerless; it was as if they simply couldn’t get their footing, and after a moment of prodding, they let go, slipping from the sleeper’s mind. 

From a window, Sandman could see it happening: a small deer gently nudging the cheek of a eight-year-old boy, its tiny nose not even touching the skin, then going through it, and finally disappearing as the fawn lost its balance and fell out of the dreaming. Sandman caught it gingerly, inspecting it for damage – but nothing was wrong. Brows furrowed, he reshaped the little dream in a beautiful great stag and sent it to another child, in another house. 

The dreamless child slept on. Sandman observed him.

His sleep wasn’t obviously troubled. He wasn’t having nightmares or anxious dreams. It was as if his mind couldn’t concentrate enough to produce a full dream – good or otherwise. It took Sandman a shameful while to finally understand what it was: confusion.

Several kids in this little town – several _dozen_ kids – were confused out of their dreams.

Now, Sandman knew he had plenty of other children to worry about. Children who needed him. But he couldn’t stay deaf to the unvoiced plea of _these_ particular minds. They were calling for help, or at least, for an answer to some deeply troubling question. 

Sandman set his face in a determined frown, took out a sand-made magnifying glass, and set out to investigate.

* * *

 

Mickael might not have been sleeping soundly, but at least he was sleeping deeply. As much as he would have loved to be awake to see it, he didn’t even feel the tiny jolt of something bursting from under his pillow. He just clutched his blanket tighter, mumbling indecipherable words. 

Baby Tooth grinned and patted the little boy’s nose, securing his tooth in a little bag she carried at her waist. She felt a bit sad, for she too had noticed something was wrong with the child’s sleep – but as much as she would love to, it wasn’t her place to pry. She prepared to go back to the tooth palace with her treasure; she knew there were countless other teeth waiting to be exchanged for a shiny new coin.

Yet, as she was going to fly away through the window, a noise stopped her.

Human voices.

Now, ordinarily, that kind of voices – grown-up voices – wouldn’t even have slowed her down. She was used to ignoring them as easily as she ignored cats who tried to catch her (for cats could see all magical creatures, no matter how well-camouflaged they were). This time, though, she stopped.

The voices were pronouncing very intriguing words.

“… tonight. The ritual cannot be delayed any longer. If you do not want your sins to smother your son’s soul, you will have to perform it as directed.”

“But the risks –”

“You heard what the Lightbringer said. There are no risks – only rewards. The Andrews did it, and look at them now! I’ve never seen them happier!”

“But what about the Dillons’ grandmother? They said –”

“ _They said, they said_ – who are you going to believe? Some frightened fools who have never even listened to Master Aileen’s words, or your closest friends and family?”

“…”

“Come on. Everything is ready. The only thing missing is the sacrifice.”

“… I’ll bring her in a few minutes.”

“Very well. I’ll wait for you there.”

The humans behind the closed door went away. The staircase creaked under their footsteps.

Baby Tooth stayed struck with horror for a few seconds – then, quick as lightning, turned to fly through the window, big mismatched eyes searching the darkness.

The two humans – a man and a woman – were on the porch. No more words were exchanged – the man, a small, nondescript figure hardly visible under his large coat, simply crossed the garden and strode down the street. The woman went back inside the house.

Baby Tooth hesitated. Should she follow the man, or wait for the woman to come out? And what about “her”? Should she try to warn her? Could she? What to do?!

A touch on her shoulder almost made her faint – or, more likely, stab her attacker in the eye with her nose. 

Fortunately, Sandman moved out of the way in time.

He smiled at the startled little fairy, indicating the house, then the departing human. He gestured to Baby Tooth, then to himself. The meaning was clear.

It was time for some teamwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ass “dialogue” in the first part. It just begged to be written. Also, a warning: I know next to nothing about the series of books the movie is based on. This will not be, in any way, an adaptation of those books, but of the movie only.


	3. Innocence is gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some violence and a death that might be shocking to some.

Each Guardian had their own way of summoning the others to a meeting. North had his northern lights. Toothiana generally sent her fairies. Bunnymund delivered bright, mobile eggs on which the invitation was written (always in chocolate). Jack had…

Well, Jack had nothing yet. Since Pitch went down (… literally), there had been no crisis requiring the Guardians’ attention. While Jack often saw his fellow Guardians, it was because of his own initiative, or the occasional random encounter. All of them were too busy to give him much time anyway, though they were as warm as ever. 

Well, North, Toothiana and Sandy were warm. Bunnymund was more like a boiling hedgehog kettle.

Jack also didn’t have a place, which seemed to be a requirement for an official Guardian meeting. North had tried to talk him into making one, of course.

“You could make magnificent ice castle, I know you could!” he said, opening his arms as if indicating the castle should also be an exploding one.

“Yeah, but, seriously North, do you see me in a castle? On a throne?”

“Or maybe snow house, gigantic igloo perhaps! I could help you make plans.”

“And what next, an army of dancing penguins to help me? North, it's not me. I’m the free spirit in the wind, the wild sense of fun. I can’t be rooted to the ground.”

North had deflated a bit, but he hadn’t insisted.

That was why Jack was resting in a tree when the dolphin came to him.

It was a funny feeling – no matter how many times Jack saw the phenomenon and its effects, it still appeared to him as wonderful and magical as the first time he saw it, centuries before. He smiled and extended his hand towards the sand-made creature, but instead of the jumping and dancing it usually did, the dolphin circled him a couple of times, then sped away and turned back, looking at him. As if he was expecting something. 

The message was clear.

“Sandy wants to see me, eh?”

Sandy very rarely had time for Jack. He rarely had time for anyone or anything except the children and their dreams. When Jack saw him – often enough, as it was – Sandman would smile, nod or wave, and keep on working without missing a beat. Since it was always night somewhere, his work hours were endless. A holiday spirit, Sandman was not.

Beginning to feel the prick of curiosity, Jack stood up and called the wind to him. The dolphin did a somersault, laughing, and sped away like a bullet.

Jack grinned. “Oh, wanna race, is that it? Wind!” 

The wind swept him up like a feather and threw him up in the air after the cheeky swimmer.

Trying to catch a dolphin made of magic sand was about the same as trying to catch a leaf caught in a particularly capricious breeze, except the leaf was sentient and mischievous. Numerous times Jack had to stop abruptly as the dolphin jumped in another direction, let itself fall below the treetops, or rolled upside down only to barrel right towards him. He himself didn’t hesitate to use as many tricks as he could, but there was only so much he could do in the air and he didn’t want to risk injuring the messenger – at least, when he remembered he _was_ chasing a messenger.

So it was that, when Jack finally arrived at the gigantic, shifting cloud he presumed was Sandy’s living place – if he had such a thing – he was greeted by the disapproving stares of those who apparently had the courtesy of not being so late. North, Bunny, Toothiana and Sandman, they were all there, having settled in what looked like a garden made entirely of golden sandflowers and buzzing sandbees.

“A _dolphin_?” groaned Bunnymund, eyeing the bouncing giggler in disbelief. “You sent him a _dolphin_? What’s wrong with you? No wonder we had to wait so long, they probably stopped every minute to play ball or something!”

Sandman smiled apologetically, sending a frown at his completely unapologetic creation before sending it away in a flow of sand.

“Actually, we raced as fast as we could,” Jack protested. “Just… not necessarily always in the right direction.”

Bunny rolled his eyes as North let out his deep-bellied laugh. “Ah, no big deal, Bunny. It is only first time for Jack; he will be faster next time, or he will be on top of naughty list this Christmas!”

“Have I ever not been on it?” Jack asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Phew, you scared me there for a second. Hey, Baby Tooth! Long time no see!” Jack smiled warmly at the little fairy who came to perch on his shoulder. “How’ve you been doing?

“Excuse me,” said Toothiana, waving a hand, “but some of us still have a lot of work to do, so if we could, you know, proceed?”

“Yeah,” said Bunny, “why did you make us come here anyway? You know I don’t like not being on firm ground; you’re happy your sand sportscar was as big as it was –”

“Wait wait wait,” said Jack, “how come _you_ get a sportscar? Could you drive it?”

“More like it drove _me_ , but at least I looked good in it,” Bunnymund smirked. “Don’t tell me you didn’t try to drive your Flipper pal?”

“Well, I tried, but believe it or not it’s kinda difficult to hang onto sand that _bucks_.”

“Could we _please_ get on with it?” Toothiana sighed. “Sandy said it’s really important!”

“She’s right, everyone, let’s listen to Sandy!” said North.

Everybody turned towards the tiny man, who had been floating around waving his arms in the air for a few seconds now, trying to get everyone’s attention. Seeing he finally had it, he set his feet back on the ground, his face set in a grim expression, and started to speak.

After a few seconds, Jack understood exactly how serious the matter was. When he had a lot to say, the Sandman usually said it fast, flashing pictures and symbols above his head until they all looked like a blur to Jack. (He suspected the others were not that much better at reading Sandy; they just were better at guessing.) If Jack was alone with Sandy, they generally had to resort to a game of charade or rebus to make it work. More often than not, one of them just gave up entirely.

This time, though, the images appeared slowly, all meticulously crafted to be as clear as possible.

First, it was an image of a town; then, a dot on a map of the United States, presumably pointing at the location of said town. The image of a sleeping child, with a cloud over his head, like a swarm of insects, bothering him. Several adults, assembled in a circle. At the center of the circle, a goat, with a lovely little bow around her neck. Then –

Jack’s eyes widened. One of the miniature sand-humans was dousing the goat with what looked like a thick liquid; another stepped up to the goat, drawing a small object out of his pocket… a lighter.

Sandy creased his brown in concentration, and not a small amount of emotion.

The silence had taken the thickness of shock when the tiny figure of the goat burst into flames as the humans withdrew from her.

Sandy stopped.

Baby Tooth left Jack’s shoulder to flitter up to Sandy. She chirped at him softly, in tones that would have been reassuring if not for her trembling, and Jack realized with a start that she was as shaken as the Sandman. He cast a glimpse at Toothiana. She has standing with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes as wide as saucers.

Sandy shook his head slightly, as if chasing a bad dream.

A new image appeared. This time, it was clearly a woman, tall and rather beautiful, as far as one could tell with sand. She was dressed in flowing robes and held some sort of staff in her hand. From the way her lips moved, it looked like she was talking loudly, possibly to a crowd. 

Sandy lifted a finger, as if to say: “Now watch closely.” And the image shifted.

Slowly, a monstrous shape started forming behind the woman. It had two bodies and one head; wings, claws, fangs, and a hideous smile. It was enormous, dwarfing the woman (whom Sandy shrunk to give the illusion of size). And it was laughing.

The space above Sandy’s spiky hair became empty again. Sandy sagged slightly, eyes sad and worried. 

There was a moment of silence as everybody tried to come to terms with what they just saw.

Jack glanced at the others. Toothiana still looked a bit ill, as if she was a moment away from throwing up. North was stroking his beard, his bushy black eyebrows drawn low on his thoughtful eyes. Bunny’s ears were down, his mouth gaping. Jack himself felt like he’d just jumped off the merry train right into doom station.

He had to say something. For some reason, what he said was: “The goat; that was a trick, wasn’t it?”

Sandy shook his head “no”, mournfully. 

“But – but why would anyone want to set– want to do _that_ to a goat?” stammered Jack.

“The poor creature…” breathed Toothiana.

“As a sacrifice,” said Bunny grimly. “That’s what it was, eh, Sandy?”

Sandy nodded.

“A sacrifice for _what_?” Jack asked. “That monster? Did it eat the woman too?”

“Jack, the woman _was_ the monster,” said North quietly. Jack never knew he could speak so low. “And I am pretty sure it is demon.”

“A demon disguised as a human?”

“They did that,” said Toothiana. “Back in the Middle Ages and before, they used to blend in with the humans, maskerading as one of their own. They had great powers, lots of magic.”

“But they were weakened, even then!” added Bunny. “That’s why they had to hide among humans, they were vulnerable otherwise! Demons aren’t like us, Jack, they can be seen by adults, and most of the time that’s dangerous for them.”

“Is that why I’ve never seen any before? Can they hide from us as well?”

“No, as Sandy showed you, we can see through disguise of any demon,” said North.

“And anyway, demons disappeared a long time ago, before we became Guardians,” said Tooth. “They left for another realm, I think. They didn’t like it here anymore. Which I’m very happy about, cause I’ve heard they could be _nightmares_.”

“So what’s this one doing here?” asked Bunny. “It can’t be only interested in killing goats!” His eyes widened. “Do you – do you think they killed rabbits as well?”

Baby Tooth chirped something as loudly as she could. Toothiana translated for her. “She said she heard a conversation between the humans; apparently something happened to somebody’s grandmother. They said it was an accident, but they didn’t seem entirely convinced.”

“They set fire to a _granny_?!” gasped Bunny.

“I don’t know.” Toothiana’s face was grey with horror. “It’s possible. Demons are capable of the worst; humans are just cattle to them.”

“Even children?” asked Jack.

“Then that’s it!” growled North. “We are Guardians! We cannot let a demon scare children and kill their parents; it is our duty to stop it!”

“I say we go there right now and kick both of its ugly asses!” shouted Bunny, drawing his boomerangs.

Sandy waved his arms, an image of the demon reappearing above his head, followed by a series of symbols. Toothiana slightly lowered the sword she had just unsheathed.

“Sandy’s right, we don’t know how powerful that demon is. Maybe we should first try to find out what kind of demon it is?”

“Tooth, whatever that bastard is, if it’s been reduced to burning goats down, it’s probably nowhere near its full power!” said Bunny, almost jumping up and down in his eagerness to get going. “Anyway, there’s five of us” – Baby Tooth chirped indignantly – “ _six_ of us, and only one of it.” He turned to Sandy, suddenly worried. “There _is_ only one demon, right?”

Sandy and Baby Tooth both nodded decisively. They had stayed as long as they could, during this nightmarish night, trying to find out as much as they could about the demon and its strange sect of lighter-happy people. Apart from a few ashen remains and some creepy imagery, they had found nothing.

“See? It’s not like Pitch who had his army of Nightmares. This guy’s all alone, we can take it! Come on! What if it’s gone when we arrive?”

“Jack, what do you think?”

North’s question startled Jack. In spite of everything that had happened, a part of him still hadn’t fully realized he was indeed a Guardian, and that his word was as important as the others’. Even during this meeting, he had felt like he was just tagging along, listening, reacting, ready to follow them if the need arose, but mostly an outsider invited for the occasion. Yet here they were, his friends and, for lack of a better word, “colleagues”, all waiting expectantly for his opinion, as if it mattered more than their own. The surprise left him speechless for a few seconds.

“Well?” Bunny insisted. “Get it out, we haven’t got all day!”

Jack shook himself. “Well, since it’s already caused the death of at least one living being and perhaps even of a human, and since it represents a danger to the children and their family, I believe we should go right away.” A thought seized him. “Although, maybe we could try to talk to it first, see what it wants.”

“Talk with a _demon_?” Toothiana repeated, incredulous. “Jack, they’re hardly the kind to listen.”

But North was nodding. “Yes, I agree with Jack. We should try talk to demon first, tell it how it is. Maybe it can return to its world without fight.”

Bunnymund shrugged. “Whatever you say. I’m still taking my boomerangs.”

“We all go with weapons, just in case,” said North. “All agree?”

Sandy nodded. Toothiana, still looking unconvinced, nodded as well.

Jack gripped his staff tighter. “Ready when you are.”

North waited to see if someone was going to add anything, then concluded: “Then we go now.”

* * *

 

The town was called Greenville, which was slightly disappointing to Jack. A town with a local demon sect should at least be called Salem, in his opinion. Part of him felt a bit ashamed at his way of thinking when such horrible things were happening there, but the rest of him considered humour a perfectly valid way of dealing with monsters. It had saved the day once before, after all.

Sandy showed them the way. The town was quiet – more than quiet: peaceful. The atmosphere of run-of-the-mill activity, of husbands and wives doting on their babies, of employees whistling at work, of kids learning at school, was jarring. The Guardians knew what was happening in there. It seemed, however, that nobody else did – or if they did, they did not care.

It didn’t take them long to reach the place where the sacrifice had been conducted. Jack’s confusion reached its peak then: it was a park. Not the kind of sinister, remote, dark cave or forest he’d been expecting, but a perfectly ordinary public park, with some benches, a fountain, and large – well, as large as could be for such a town – lawn-and-flowers areas. The only thing that was slightly unusual was a big sundial built smack-dab in the middle of it. The sun, rather warm even for that time of year, shone right down on it, indicating it was about one in the afternoon. Birds were singing, dogs were running, people were strolling about – everything was as fine as could be.

And the instant Jack came to that conclusion, he saw her.

Apparently, she saw them too, for she immediately stood up from the bench she was lounging on and strode towards them with a determined look. She was very tall, much taller than Sandy’s picture of her had seemed. Very beautiful as well, with delicate yet sharp features, luxurious blond hair, and cristal-clear eyes of undefinable color. Dressed in a tasteful, almost modest red dress, she was positively luminous.

She also had the haughtiest, most self-assured expression he had ever seen – and as he reminded himself, he regularly dealt with E. Aster Bunnymund. 

“I seem to remember you,” she said. “Don’t you usually come out at night, little spirits?”

The Guardians hesitated. That was not the scenario they had had in mind. On the way to Greenville, they spoke about how it would happen: how they would track the demon down, corner it in its lair, and threaten it with bright justice and punishment if it didn’t agree to their terms. This – this straightforward, let’s-have-a-chat-under-the-sun thing, they hadn’t expected.

Jack surprised himself by being the first to recover. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve met me before. Pretty sure I wasn’t even born then. Name’s Jack Frost – yours?”

The mesmerising eyes turned to him. They narrowed slightly. “Yes, I don’t remember _you_. New to the game, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure what you’re doing here is no game,” said Jack.

“I disagree. I’m having fun here. It’s the first time I can in more than a thousand years, wouldn’t _you_ enjoy it?”

Bunny snapped. “Setting living, breathing beings on fire – beings who can’t even defend themselves – is nothing like a game _I_ would play! So here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to leave this town, leave its people, and when you’re at it leave the entire Earth, and go back to whatever hellhole you’ve come from!”

The woman smirked. “Aren’t you cute. Who is going to make me?”

“We are, of course!” said Toothiana, flying upward so that she could look down at the tall woman. Baby Tooth followed her, nodding furiously. “You might know us from back then in the Dark Ages, but make no mistake, we are far more powerful now than we were then!”

“True,” added North, drawing his swords proudly. “We are Guardians, chosen by Man in Moon himself to protect the children of the world. And you, demon, are a threat. If you do not leave the humans alone, we will fight you, and you will lose.”

Sandman nodded fiercely, glowing whips already appearing in his hands.

Jack gripped his staff tighter, but didn’t say anything. The more he looked at this woman, the more a feeling of terrible unease was creeping over him. He was starting to feel sluggish, numb, as if too cold… or too hot. Under the shining sun and open skies, he felt oppressed. He didn’t like it.

The woman stared at them, unblinking. “You know, what you’re making right now, is a threat.”

“Damn right!” said Bunnymund.

“Do you know what makes threats efficient, though? Fear. And I am deeply sorry, but seeing you all assembled in front of me, I do not feel the slightest hint of fear.”

“Last chance!” warned North.

“There is no chance – only me. Burning living creatures to death fuels me. As long as the humans keep listening to me, I will be fed more power than you’ve ever seen. But since you’re all so eager, I consent to a fight with you.”

Only then did Jack realize what was bugging him so. He saw the tanned, almost golden skin. The elegant flows of the dress. The graceful neck, the teasing smile, and the unrelenting gaze. 

He didn’t see a demon. Nor did any of the other Guardians. Bunny, North, Tooth and Sandy... they all stared at her human face - not up where the demon face should have been.

The warmth bore on him like a lid. 

Toothiana fluttered determinedly. “You will not surrender or leave?”

The woman shrugged. “Why should I? I heard roasted rabbit can be quite a treat.”

Bunny threw one of his boomerangs.

The woman caught it.

It burst into flame.

* * *

 

The next few minutes were a blur. 

There were shouts, screams, clanks of swords, flashes of light, sounds of flesh hitting flesh, of whips striking out, of a fight far more chaotic and wild a local public park should have witnessed. The humans around may not have noticed the demon or the Guardians, but they felt the fire and left the park – although, Jack confusingly noted, no one ran; they just left calmly, looking preoccupied but not scared. Meanwhile a big fireball almost melted the sundial. The heart of the park became a giant ashtray.

Bunny jumped left and right, tireless, throwing boomerangs first and then anything he could get his paws on. Toothiana flew, dived and lunged from all directions, not a single blow hitting home. North slashed the air with his two ancient blades, powerful arms moving like windmills, striking only to be dropped from searing heat. Sandy lashed out with sand as sharp as razor, barely missing the other Guardians each time he came close to catching his opponent. Baby Tooth herself was dashing around, trying to do whatever damage she could, or at least to help her friends.

 _How is it happening?_ thought Jack as he unleashed as much ice lightning as he dared with his friends so near. _She is all alone! How can she be so powerful?_ His throat ached, his skin felt like fever.

Was it a stroke of luck, or the power of cold over heat? His icy wave seemed to stagger the creature, leaving Toothiana an opening. She flew to its heart, but only reached its arm before the demon shook itself in a blaze. The Guardians staggered backwards, Jack gasping in pain. His vision blurred. What was happening? _How was it happening?_

He concentrated, eyes watering. There was North, one of his swords gone, a hand deep in his pocket. Tooth, feathers singed but grinning triumphantly at the demon’s obviously injured arm, Baby Tooth trumpeting at her side. Sandy, a golden whip struggling to contain the other arm. Bunny crouching, boomerangs ready, waiting for the right moment to bludgeon the demon’s head.

A ray of hope. Jack straightened up, staff ready.

Grimacing at the whip caught around her wrist, the woman sneered. “You’re stronger than you look.”

Sandy threw another whip, which caught her injured arm. She staggered.

Her skin was starting to glow red. “Piece of advice, though.”

Toothiana and Bunnymund aimed carefully, not wanting to miss this shot.

“Next time…”

They lunged.

“… Come at night.”

There were only two reasons Jack didn’t lose his sight, as well as his life, there and then.

The first one was that he was immortal, already kind of dead, and not a human.

The second was that a great big arm had seized him by the shoulders at the last moment and threw him backwards.

He felt the _swoosh_ of a portal opening – _snow globe_ , came the thought in a haze – and the welcome sweetness of an icy blizzard. He felt fur crashing against him, followed by sand, followed by feathers. Then a terrible, horrendous light, bursting through the seams of the spatial disruption, smothering them in white death.

Finally the snow came, and swallowed them all.

* * *

 

 

When Jack came to – which was already a novel sensation – he was lying on a comfortable blanket, on a comfortable sofa, in a comfortable room. He sat up at once.

“Relax, relax, Jack!” came the reassuring voice of North. “We are in my workshop. You’re safe now. We all are.”

“But that was close, I can tell you!” added Bunny.

Jack looked around.

The first thing he noticed, with deep sharp relief, was that all of them were there, safe and sound. Some of Toothiana’s feathers had been burnt, Sandy looked exhausted, Bunny’s fur was definitely darker in places than it should have been, and North had put on a new coat, but these were all superficial damages. Even Baby Tooth was all right – shaking all over, but all right. It could easily have been worse.

Jack’s head swam. Oh, it could so easily have been worse.

Sandy patted his shoulder, giving him a gentle smile. Baby Tooth snuggled up to him, chirping happily.

“I guess we didn’t win?” said Jack.

The Guardians exchanged wary looks.

“Sandy was right,” said Bunny, ears flattened in abject defeat. “We weren’t prepared. We should have done some research on this demon, or at least watched it a bit before going after it. I’m sorry, Sandy. And to you too, Tooth.”

“It’s my fault,” muttered Toothiana. “I should have been more…”

“Nonsense!” said North. “It is not your fault. This is not Sandy’s fault. You two said your thoughts and then we voted, nobody is to blame.”

“Yeah,” added Jack. “It was just a mistake. I made worse ones not too long ago.”

North nodded, knowing he was talking about Pitch and his memories.

“It is not mistakes that count, but what we do to correct mistakes. That is why I have this.”

With a flourish, he produced a book.

As far as weapons went, Jack thought this one looked a bit underwhelming. It was of average size, neither small nor big, and appeared very old, even moldy. Its cover was blank, except for one word: _Demons_. Well, at least it had the advantage of being clear.

“I had yetis find it for me while we were recuperating. I didn’t even know if I still had it, but apparently elves had been responsible for weeding out old books.”

“So, what does it say? Is this woman-demon in there?” asked Jack.

“Yes, I think I found something like it. Here!”

North turned the open book for them to see.

The drawing was a bit crude, the proportions mostly wrong, but it was unmistakably the same demon that Sandy saw the night before. It looked even more frightening on the page, all lava-red and bared teeth. Obviously the artist had not been its biggest fan.

Sandy tapped the illustration with his finger, then made an image of the woman appear over his head, followed by an interrogation mark.

“Sandy’s right,” said Toothiana. “That’s what we should have seen, what he saw the first time. Why didn’t we see her as the demon?”

“You saw nothing as well?” Bunny asked Sandy.

Sandy shook his head. North, who had been reading, frowned.

“Then it is worse than we thought.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bunny.

“It is said here that this particular demon is demon of light. It is very powerful being who gets more powerful in daylight and hot weather –”

“ – great, I feel so much luckier than before –” mumbled Bunny.

“ – and is capable of blinding humans from the truth with its light.”

“‘Blinding humans from the truth’?” Jack repeated. “Do you think that’s why the people in the park reacted so strangely? They didn’t see the amount of damage it did? I thought they looked way too calm.”

“Actually it is only part of reason,” North went on. “Other reason is, they were not afraid.”

“Not afraid? How can you be not afraid of a behemoth of a fireball leveling your park?” said Bunny.

“Because they were not. It is written here: ‘Demons of light can only use their power fully when fear is low, for fear makes them visible to humans and vulnerable to exterior attacks. Only when afraid can humans hope to escape their influence, and only when fear and shadows dull the light and bring forth the truth will the heart of the demon be eaten by mortality.’”

There was a moment of silence. Then, very crossly, Bunny concluded:

“Damn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I got the Guardians right, especially their individual voices.


	4. Deep in the night

“No way.”

“Bunny, it’s not like –”

“No way!”

“I don’t like Pitch either, but –”

“No! Way!”

“…”

“Sandy’s right, you’re being mulish.”

“Oh, you, don’t start! Frost, you’re with me, right?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Sandy was the first one who pronounced the name. Well, not really, but he drew a very lifelike image of Pitch Black, looking somehow wrong with all this golden sand. Of course, it all made complete sense: fear and shadows were needed to counteract the demon of light, and Pitch _was_ fear and shadows incarnate. From there on, the plan was simple and straightforward: they find Pitch, they convince (or coerce) him to help, and they defeat the demon. Easy as pie.

However Bunny had a different opinion.

“Come on! Don’t you remember how he was like? You think that demon’s a pain in the ass but at least it’s honest! You can’t miss it! But Pitch? Sneaky, cowardly, manipulative, devious – why, how would you trust _him_? Tooth, remember when he captured your fairies? Jack, remember when he broke your staff? Remember _Easter_? And Sandy, he _killed_ you!”

Sandy gave a sheepish smile, followed by a noncommital shrug that clearly meant: I got better.

“Bunny, it’s not that we trust Pitch –” North began, again.

“Then why? Why immediately jump to this conclusion while there might be other, better, _safer_ solutions? Since when do the Guardians meekly go and seek somebody else’s help, especially when that somebody nearly _destroyed us all_ the last time he walked free?”

“We’ve been over that already,” said Tooth wearily. “None of us has the kind of power necessary to weaken the demon, and if we don’t weaken it, we have no hope of defeating it.”

“Hey, my center _is_ hope, so I think I know what we can and cannot hope, all right?”

“So tell us, then!” snapped Toothiana suddenly, her half-burnt crest flaring in frustration. “Look us all in the eye and tell us, honestly, that we can defeat the demon without Pitch.”

Jack held his breath.

Bunny stared at North, then Sandy, then Toothiana, and finally at Jack. Jack held his gaze firmly. He didn’t know if there could be any other solution, or even if trying to get Pitch to help would actually help. But he wanted to try. Oh, he so wanted to try.

After a few seconds of silence, Bunny lowered his head. “Bah.” He hesitated, then added quietly: “But you can’t convince me this isn’t a really bad idea. What if it was Pitch’s plan? Thought about that? I mean, where does it come from, this demon? What if Pitch brought it here to scare us into giving him more power? Then what?”

Jack frowned. “I don’t think Pitch would ever associate with something as evil as that monster.”

Bunny scoffed. “You’re cute, mate, but you don’t know Pitch like we do.”

“No, you’re right; but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you know him like _I_ do either. Besides, I’ve checked the entrance to his lair. It’s still closed; looks like it never even existed. He couldn’t have gotten out to deal with the demon.”

Sandy shook his head and pictured a figure disappearing and reappearing.

Jack turned his staff in his hands in annoyance. Yes, of course, he had forgotten. Shadow teleportation, or whatever that was. Pitch would still have that, wouldn’t he?

So why was he so certain Pitch had nothing to do with the demon?

“Look,” said Toothiana, “I dislike having to ask Pitch as much as you do – believe me, I do – but we don’t have time to search for alternate solutions. Remember what the demon said? ‘As long as the humans keep listening to me, I will be fed more power than you’ve ever seen.’ The longer we wait, the more powerful it will get.”

“What about the nightmares?” Jack asked suddenly.

Sandy grinned and drew an image of a snarling, skinny horse dissolving into sand.

Jack nodded. The few nightmares that were left probably escaped Pitch’s lair in the months and years that followed his defeat, and went through the human world in search of fear to feed on, only to be caught by the Sandman. He felt a curious pang at the thought. Dangerous as they were, they had been quite beautiful – and apparently, Pitch’s only friends.

Then a thought struck him. “Wait. How do we even get to Pitch? I told you, the entrance is closed. Is there another way in?”

North turned to Bunny. Who groaned.

* * *

 

 

Now that he thought of it, it kind of made sense. Pitch’s lair was necessarily underground, and he had witnessed first hand how it could communicate with Bunny’s tunnels. Now all they needed was to actually find it.

It took some time. Bunny could go anywhere he wanted on Earth through his underground maze, but Pitch Black’s home base was not “anywhere on Earth”. He had to stop constantly to get his bearings, open a way only to close it moments later, muttering under his breath, ears twitching. Jack tried to help as much as he could, concentrating until a headache started forming, seeking any sign that reminded him of the path he once took.

Surprisingly, it was Baby Tooth who found it.

Despite the danger and her mounting exhaustion, she had outright refused to be left behind, although Jack suspected it had also something to do with the way the elves were staring at her. So she followed them doggedly, flittering this way and that, sometimes chirping to herself to keep motivated. Then, suddenly, she disappeared, almost giving Tooth (and Jack as well) a heart attack before popping out of a tiny opening through the rock formation they were currently exploring. She trumpeted triumphantly.

Bunny wasted no time enlarging the hole.

And there they were, stepping into Pitch’s domain.

Everything was exactly as Jack remembered. Old. Vertiginous. Confusing. And, of course, dark.

Seemingly endless staircases crept up or down – sometimes straight, sometimes round, more often than not twisted and crooked. Their steps disappeared into inky blackness, the echoes of feet lost in seconds, as if swallowed by the silence. The Guardians progressed inward, slow, careful, unusually quiet. Baby Tooth stayed close to Jack. The impossibly high ceilings threatened to collapse, or maybe it was just the shadows playing a trick on their depth perception. Strange, unrecognizable sounds dripped down from the emptiness. Beneath the bridge they were walking on, lay an even blacker night, like an immense, dead lake, or the gaping mouth of a titanic beast.

Despite all of this, though – despite the weird noises, and the strange architecture, and the dark – despite how his fellow Guardians kept close and on guard, as if expecting an attack any moment – despite the bad memories he had from this place… Jack didn’t feel scared.

Not even anxious, actually. Well, a little bit nervous, but mostly just… puzzled. 

Something didn’t feel right.

Or more exactly, something felt too right.

He remembered the last and only time he came here. Cages hung from ceilings, full of frightened little fairies. A huge pile of teeth containers glowed sadly down below. And the shadows, they were _alive_. They swept from the walls, on the paving, gobbled down reality as they dropped him from one place to the other, laughing at his confusion, at his frustration. They separated left from right, up from down, never letting him catch his breath. He remembered the feeling of not being able to call the wind, of being lost and vulnerable, of being a toy for a more powerful being to play with. It made him angry, and regretful, and a little bit admirative, the way you can’t help shaking your head in jealous awe when another player shows himself to be a master.

Now, the cages they were approaching were empty. And so were the shadows. No supernatural movement to screw with your mind. No unnatural depth. No uncomprehensible opening and closing of paths in the darkness. Just ordinary shadows, doing their business, shrinking before the Sandman’s golden light. 

Last time he came here, he was visiting a haunted castle. Now it was an empty tourist attraction.

Where was Pitch?

They finally reached the globe. It was easy to find: it glowed in the dark from the millions of miniature lights that covered it. It looked almost incongruous, so small and ancient, sharp metal edges softened by sweet brightness. Jack put his hand on it, fascinated. A lot of these lights were for him as well, now.

As if the sight of the globe filled him with new vigor, North straightened to his full impressive height, and bellowed: 

“PIIITCH!”

They waited a few seconds, quietly. 

Nothing came.

North tried again, for he was nothing if not tenacious. “Piiitch! We have come to talk to you!”

After a few more seconds yielded nothing, Toothiana tried as well: “We did not come to fight, Pitch! We have a problem, and we think you can help us solve it!”

A pause, again – and again, nothing. Either Pitch was not in the mood to cooperate, or… he was not there.

Finally, Jack stepped forward, peering intently in the darkness around them. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but what came out was: “You _do_ know hide and seek doesn’t work if the players aren’t seeking, right?”

If he had hoped the sarcasm would draw Pitch out of his silence, he was cruelly disappointed. In fact, he was starting to be positively worried. A glance in their direction confirmed the others were feeling the same. If Pitch wasn’t there, if they couldn’t find him, then how would they be able to defeat the demon of light?

Bunny kicked at the ground, huffing in frustration. “Huh. He’s cowering somewhere, afraid we’ll kick his ass.”

“Beware what you say, rabbit, or your nose might grow to be longer than your ridiculous ears.”

Oh, that smooth British accent! Jack perked up instantly, as the Guardians all turned in the direction the voice had come from. Darkness, of course – and when Sandy sent a ray of golden sand towards it, it was empty. But that didn’t matter, because now they could be sure of it: Pitch was there!

Jack grinned. “Hey, Pitch! I knew you couldn’t be far!” He chuckled. “You’re like me: can’t resist an opportunity to annoy Bunny!”

“Hey!” growled Bunnymund.

“Don’t compare yourself to me, Jack Frost!” hissed the voice.

Jack shrugged. “You started it. Remember?”

“What do you want?”

Well, Pitch wasn’t in the mood. North, as always, took the lead.

“There is a new threat on Earth. A demon of light. Because you have been” – he barely hesitated – “inactive for a few years, fear has dwindled in human hearts ; demon became too powerful for us. You could help.”

“And why would I do that?”

Jack noticed that Pitch’s haughty, bored voice was moving in the darkness – but not at all in the way he expected. It didn’t seem to come from everywhere like last time; it appeared to progress along the same patch of obscurity, underneath the long arch of a staircase. As if, instead of flowing from shadow to shadow, Pitch was simply creeping through the material world, staying out of sight.

“This demon is evil, Pitch,” said Toothiana. “It has started killing living beings and we know it won’t stop there; it told us so itself. It may have already killed humans!”

“So what? Humans kill one another all the time. I’ve seen what they can do; believe me, demons can be an improvement. I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

“It’s making them burn animals, Pitch, maybe even people!” pleaded Tooth.

“Just like the good old times. Should I shed a tear?”

Jack almost jumped out of his skin, but against all odds, what startled him was not the sudden outpouring of disturbing shadowplay, but the sound and feel of a boomerang swishing an inch or two past his ear. The thing flew into the darkness, already starting to follow a graceful arc. A second later, a cry of pain and anger punctuated its landing.

Sandy was quick to react, sending his sand forward to light up the scene. Just in time, too: Pitch was already getting back to his feet, ready to slither away when one of North’s enormous paws fell down on his shoulder.

“Ow! Get your hands off me!”

But when he managed to shrug off the big man, who incidentally was not holding him so much as hovering over him, he found himself surrounded by all the Guardians assembled, themselves at the center of a large ring made of the Sandman’s thickest and most luminous sand. He winced, and scowled, but stopped struggling. North stepped back.

Jack took his first good look at the terror who almost destroyed the Guardians, not too long before.

Pitch had not changed one bit. Jack didn’t know if that surprised him or not. Was it just like Pitch to go through what had to be a terribly humiliating defeat, yet still display that self-assured, contemptuous look on his feline face? Jack tried to find signs of his long isolation, of some marks left by the nightmares that had turned on him – but the shadowy robes were as black as ever, the skin as unmarred, the hair as spiky. Maybe was he just a bit smaller, but even then he still was taller than Jack, taller in fact than all the Guardians except North.

Pitch noticed him staring, and snarled, thin lips uncovering sharp teeth.

Taken by a vivid remembrance of his snowman, Jack couldn’t help chuckling.

“By the way, how’s the missing tooth?”

Pitch drew himself up like an offended cat. “As good as your staff,” he spat. “Now can we get on with it? If you want me to go out there and fight your problems for you, you might as well get to the point and tell me, so I can tell you ‘no way’!”

Bunny took a threatening step forward. “I don’t think you’ve got much of a choice, here, mate!”

Pitch didn’t flinch or show a hint of fear, but Jack didn’t miss the shiver of uncertainty passing through his golden eyes. “You forget you are in my domain. I could –”

Toothiana didn’t let him finish. She fluttered close to Bunny, blocking his path. “Bunny, calm down. Pitch, as we already told you, we’re not here to fight; but we did come to get your help, and we’re fully ready to _make_ you help if necessary! People are in danger, and you will not be allowed to wallow down here in your shadows while you could be useful!” she added ferociously.

Sandy waved to catch their eyes, and produced a series of symbols and images that Jack couldn’t decipher, but that Pitch apparently could, for when Jack looked back at him, he realized his expression had changed. There was a gleam in his eyes, half greed, half defiance.

“You can’t be serious,” he said to Sandy. “After all I did last time, you would –”

“It is only solution,” said North. “It is written, demon of light can only be weakened by fear and shadows. You are fear and shadows; so you can weaken him.”

Pitch chuckled darkly. “I’ll have to get stronger than I am right now to be of any threat to a demon.”

“That’s true, North – I bet he can’t even scare a mouse right now!” said Jack, and he gave Pitch his sunniest smile.

“That’s why we have proposition for you,” North went on, ignoring the interruption.

“That I am completely, adamantly against, by the way,” added Bunny.

“We give you opportunity to get fear back. Just enough to get demon vulnerable so that we can defeat him. Then, when demon is defeated, you can go free.”

Pitch seemed stunned. “Really? You would let me go out in the world, just because of that demon? You _do_ know I’ll need to scare children to get stronger?”

“As strong as you need to be to weaken the demon, nothing more!” corrected Bunny. “And once it’s over, we don’t want to have to deal with you in any way ever again! No ruining Easter!”

“Or kidnapping my fairies, or stealing the teeth!” added Toothiana.

“Or interfering with us Guardians,” concluded North. “That is deal.”

“If you get back to your old ways, we’ll know!” said Toothiana.

Sandy nodded vigorously, pointing at Pitch while displaying the image of sand turning into a nightmare before exploding. Pitch’s scowl indicated he understood the message perfectly.

Jack gently poked Pitch with his staff. “Come on. It’s a great deal, and you know it. I know you don’t want to stay alone down here.”

Pitch glared furiously at him. “Don’t presume to know what I want and do not want!”

Jack stepped closer to him, lowering his voice, suddenly dead serious. “I remember everything you said. You can’t lie to me.” 

Pitch bristled, but said nothing, simply turning to North, making a great show of pretending to think. However Toothiana interrupted him before he could speak.

“Guys, it’s nearly three in the morning! We need to get up there before dawn, otherwise it will be too late for us to get to the demon!”

Pitch blinked. “What? You want to go _now_?”

“Just to check on demon, do not worry,” said North, searching his pockets.

“Yeah, since we got our butts kicked pretty hard, we figured it was a better plan to stick to observation, this time,” grumbled Bunnymund. “We’ll simply pop up, find the bastard, make you take a good look at it so that you can tell us how much of a power-up you’ll need, and then we’ll get out of there.”

“And prepare _real_ plan!” added North brightly. He now held a snow globe in his right hand. 

“Hey! I thought we were going back through my tunnels!”

“Tunnels are too slow, this is much better. All ready?”

Glancing at Pitch, Jack caught a glimpse of something, a fleeting expression almost instantly gone, replaced by a look of quiet resignation. His gaze met Sandy’s. They had the same thought. _He’s going to betray us. He’s going to play nice and then, as soon as our backs are turned, he’s going to start plotting again. And how will we know he’s powerful enough anyway? How will we know he’ll stop at what we need, and not at what_ he _needs?_

The snow globe burst open, the lights of Greenville’s street lamps flooding in. So early in the morning, the place seemed as ordinary as ever. 

The Guardians hesitated, standing before the open portal, as if waiting for a signal. 

Then Pitch sighed, rolled his eyes, and stepped through in one decisive stride.

* * *

 

“Do you even _know_ where you’re going?” hissed Pitch. “I thought you wanted to be quick!”

“Well, the demon didn’t exactly leave us its calling card!” retorted Bunny. “The only thing we know is what we got from that book of North, and believe me, it’s not much! It’s as if people in the Middle Ages were too scared to write down anything useful – I wonder why!”

“What a surprise, some of us are actually competent at our jobs!”

 _With all that racket, I’m surprised the demon hasn’t yet come out to scold us for waking it up!_ thought Jack.

They had only been searching the town for a few minutes, but even going as fast as they could, it was still a lot of houses and buildings to check, and none of them so far had revealed anything of note. The demon might have taken a human appearance, it didn’t seem to live in any human home. They’d even checked the park again, but apart from the hideous sploshy sculpture that used to be the sundial, there was nothing left to find.

“Pitch, don’t _you_ know anything about what a demon might want in a sleeping place?” asked Jack. “You seemed to know what North was talking about when he mentioned a demon of light. Can’t you give us a guess?”

Pitch shrugged. “The only thing I can tell you is that this particular type of demon doesn’t like darkness.”

Bunny snorted. “Great, now tell us something we don’t already know!”

“Which means, ears-for-brains, that your demon will be sleeping somewhere under lights.”

“Fine! So why don’t you go find us bright lights _in the middle of the night_?”

Jack tuned out the quarrel, seeing Sandy suddenly perk up and float away in the direction they came from. A few seconds later, he waved at Jack excitedly. “Did you find something?” Jack asked, flying up to him.

Sandy motioned at a building they had passed only a few minutes before. They hadn’t paid any attention to it, seeing it couldn’t be a house or an apartment, and Jack stared at it in confusion, wondering what it was that had caught the Sandman’s attention. 

Then he got it.

He sprinted back to the others, almost landing right on Pitch and subsequently delighted at Pitch’s jump. “Guys! Sandy has an idea! Follow me!”

They ran up the street until they arrived next to where Sandy was waiting. 

“Huh,” said Toothiana, looking at the building. “Are you sure about this?”

Sandy did a smile-and-shrug combo that clearly meant: _Of course not, but there’s no harm to check._

Pitch sneered. “Well, if it’s so desperate for light it’s willing to subject itself to these things, I’m guessing it won’t be that hard to beat after all…”

Strangely, the door was open. Taking that as a good sign, they went inside.

* * *

 

The waiting area was dark and empty. Even in the night, it looked wonderfully warm and welcoming, with its comfortable chairs, soft pastel colors and beautiful decorations. It had visibly been set up by a person of great taste hoping to attract and keep a strong clientele. It felt clean, fresh… new. Very new.

Especially compared to the other shops, restaurants and salons in the same street, which all looked like they were a few decades old.

“There’s a light coming from there –” whispered Tooth, before jumping almost a foot in the air, nearly crashing into Bunny and giving him a heart attack.

Jack spun around, ready to strike, only to be met by two innocent green eyes. He smiled. “Hey, kitty.”

Pitch rolled his eyes, smirking. “So that’s all it takes to scare you now? A cat?”

Said cat, a perfectly ordinary tabby who had been sleeping in one of the chairs, blinked lazily at them. Then, apparently deciding the visitors weren’t worth his interest, he got up and left, quietly and with great dignity, by the still open door. 

“Smart kitty,” said Jack. “Let’s see that light.”

It was coming from underneath a closed door, at the back of the main room. The door was too small to allow all of them – or even only two of them – through at the same time, but Baby Tooth, having phased through it, came back nodding and smiling in triumph. The Guardians exchanged a glance. The demon was in there, asleep. Finally, some progress.

North turned towards Pitch. Not daring to speak, he simply jerked his head and pointed his finger in the direction of the door. Pitch, though, was already stepping in front of the door; there was no need to explain any further. Making sure to stay quiet, but not seeming to share any of the Guardians’ apprehension – in fact, Jack thought he looked downright curious – he turned the handle and opened the door a few inches.

For a few seconds, he looked inside, his tall silhouette and broad shoulders hiding from view what he was watching. Then, very carefully, he closed the door again, and stepped back.

His face was as impassive as could be, but either Jack had become an expert at reading his emotions, or Pitch was not half as good at hiding them as he thought he was – for his fear, deep, powerful, _abject_ , was as obvious as if he’d screamed. He tiptoed backwards from the door, eyes never leaving the handle, looking like he was ready to bolt if it moved even one inch. The Guardians hovered around him, avid for information.

“So?” whispered Tooth. “What did you see?”

“We should go,” hissed Pitch.

“What? Is it awake?” asked North.

“No, and that’s why we should get out of here _right now_!”

“But why?”

Frowning, Jack looked back at the door, and couldn’t contain his curiosity. What was it that had the power to terrify Pitch so much? The last time he’d seen such an expression in his eyes, was just after Jamie had run through him. Jack had to know. He floated up to the door and opened it a fraction.

What he saw defied all understanding.

It was a tanning salon, fully equipped with state-of-the-art tanning beds. And in one of those beds, under the full glow of the artificial lights, naked and fast asleep, was the demon-woman.

But this time, Jack could see her for what she was, as well as what she wasn’t. While the delicate limbs fit impeccably on the human-sized bed and the soft skin was showing off a perfectly human tan, a colossal shape appearing through her almost filled the entire room – and it was a big room, containing a dozen tanning beds. 

Jack was seeing the demon.

It was, undubitably, frightening, what with its sheer size and threatening red glow that painted the room with a hellish sheen. Jack wondered if the demon, if it were to wake up, would be able to hit the Guardians directly, or if as before the human enveloppe alone would deal the blows. The bodies went directly through the tanning beds and other furniture surrounding it, as well as parts of the walls, so it was at least partially immaterial – but then, so were the Guardians and Pitch himself. The only real consolation Jack could seize from the sight was that, since he could see it, it meant that the demon was indeed less powerful at night; or, perhaps, simply less powerful when it was asleep.

Still, it didn’t explain Pitch’s terror. Sandy saw the demon this way, and awake, (and killing,) and he didn’t react like that. What was going on?

He felt something tug at his sleeve. He looked back, then down. Sandy indicated the others were leaving. Not wanting to be left alone with the sleeping behemoth, Jack closed the door and trotted after them.

The door made a small noise while closing. Jack didn’t hear it, Sandy didn’t hear it – but someone, with ears as sharp as a predator’s, heard it perfectly.

Outside, the whispers were coming fast and harsh.

“Could you at least _explain_? Because I can tell you right now, mate, you’re not going to bail on us without a good reason!”

“Is ‘You’re all going to die, you idiots’ good enough for you?”

Toothiana, who had been fluttering up and down in anxiety, zeroed in on Jack as soon as she saw him. “Jack, what did you see?”

“The demon, its true form. It’s, uh, sleeping. On a tanning bed. Tanning.”

“ _Tanning_?”

“Yeah. I guess demons must always look like they’ve just come from the beach, or other demons laugh at them, or something.”

Pitch let out an agonized moan and buried his face in his hands. “It’s _absorbing light_! Don’t you understand? UV rays might not be as strong as sunlight, but they still are good fuel for its kind. It’s not simply sleeping, it’s _recharging_. Each minute that goes by, it grows stronger.”

“So, how strong do you think it is now?” asked North.

“Don’t you have another of your snow globes in your pockets? We need to get away before it wakes up!”

“Why don’t you answer the question?” snapped Bunny.

“I _will_ answer, I will – _if_ we get to a safe place, far from here! Quickly!”

The Guardians exchanged looks, but North, who was starting to look uneasy, finally reached inside his coat and took out a snow globe.

A few seconds later, they all stepped through the portal to North’s workshop. Just before it closed, a security camera mounted above the tanning salon’s front window zoomed in on them. 

Back on the tanning bed, eyes riveted to its smartphone, the demon started to growl.


	5. Too late

“So: what was _that_? Pitch! Seriously, what _was_ that? Since when do you get so scared of tanning demons? Hey! Are you listening to me?”

For some reason, the memory of the monster sprawled upon, beyond and _through_ tanning beds in the artificially and supernaturally lit back room of the salon, didn’t seem to Jack as unnerving as the scene that was unfolding in front of him. 

Back in the cozy, Christmassy sweetness of the North Pole, the Guardians were standing in a circle around Pitch Black, who was using every inch of floor they had left him to pace back and forth like a imprisoned tiger. It was strange, really. Nothing bad had happened. The demon hadn’t woken up, nobody had been hurt. In fact, they had made significant progress: they now knew the creature’s dwelling place, knew it had to rest, and hence was vulnerable at night. 

Why was it then, that Jack felt the prickling of dread in his veins? Was it simply Pitch’s mounting anxiety feeding his own nervousness?

After a few seconds of Pitch still ignoring Bunny’s questions and the others’ inquisitive stares, Jack stepped slightly forward and hooked his staff around the bogeyman’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. Pitch turned with a snarl and made a move to unhook himself, but a shallow burst of frost along his shadow-clad arm made him stop. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the drama, but you promised us answers, remember?”

Pitch made a sound at half-point between a sigh and a huff. However, he did not resume his pacing, only freeing his arm from the staff. Jack let him go.

“I know that demon.”

Predictably, such a claim drew different reactions from the group. 

Bunny’s face darkened with dread. “Great, more good news.”

Sandy tilted his head. “?” appeared above his hair.

Toothiana fluttered, “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

North brightened. “Wonderful! That means you know its weaknesses, right?”

Jack had to give it to them: they had a knack for summarizing everything _he_ felt at the same time.

Pitch crossed his arms and, apparently deciding to keep on ignoring Bunny for as long as possible, started answering the questions in a firm, crisp, business-like voice.

“I’ve met it before. In the Dark Ages. It was maskerading as a judge at a witch’s trial. I saw it, accidentally made people aware of what it was, it wasn’t happy, and it gave me a thrashing. End of story. Morality: it is a _very_ powerful demon of light, and we’re all doomed.”

North deflated a bit. Bunny snickered. “So the big guy kicked your ass once”, he said. “One positive for it, so what? Remember the whooping we gave you, a few years ago? That’s hardly a feat anymore.”

“Would you use your two barely functioning synapses for once?” hissed Pitch. “The power I had when I fought you was the result of a few decades of hijacking Sandman’s dreams one at a time, a long-term tinkering born of having no other option to speak of. I met this demon when I was at the peak of my power, when every child on Earth feared my shadows and carried their fears into adulthood.”

Taken by the memory, Pitch started to pace again, but this time, he did not stop speaking.

“There were a lot of demons back then. All demons that I’ve known crave violence of some kind, and these certainly were violent times. But since human fear makes them vulnerable, most of them went away after a while, convinced the few victims they could get weren’t worth the risks they took. Some of them, though…”

He frowned, a look of distaste on his face.

“Some of them were _clever_. They’d realized that frightened humans very often turn into violent humans. So, instead of avoiding their fearful haze, they _played_ with it, danced around it, a bit like” – he snorted – “like jugglers with fire, making sure the heat barely warmed them while impressing the _hell_ out of the assistance. They diverted attention away from them and towards others. Innocent humans, most of them – witches, Jews, outsiders. Scapegoats, primed for burning, hanging, torture, anything the demons thirsted for.”

He cast a look at the Guardians, smirking at their expression. “What? Had you forgotten what it was like? What your sweet little humans could do? I saw children throw stones at old women, and laugh at executions. Good thing you came afterwards to make them _happy_.”

Toothiana drew herself up, all sober dignity. “Don’t play these games with us, Pitch. We remember what it was like. In fact, you just _told_ us how fear made humans violent. Don’t pretend to have the moral high ground.”

Jack threw her an appreciative glance. Pitch, however, just shrugged.

“Yet here you are, begging for my help. I’m not certain any of us has the moral high ground.” Sensing that none of the Guardians would be ready to agree with him, he went on smoothly: “But yes, the good old times – a struggle between fear and violence, both feeding each other until fear – your humble servant,” he added with a mocking bow, “won out, banishing most of the demons to less dangerous realms, wherever those were.”

“So the gist of your charming little tale there,” said Bunny in an annoyed drawl, “is that the demon we want to take down is one of the clever ones.”

“And if it was powerful enough to kick your ass during your reign of terror,” added Jack, “how much more powerful can it be now?”

“But wait,” said North, “how can you be sure it is same demon you met?”

“Believe me, I saw its ugly face pretty clearly when it was ripping me to shreds,” mumbled Pitch. The words seemed almost physically painful to him. “Besides, all demons seem to have an aura of sorts, specific to each individual. It _is_ the same demon. As for how powerful it can get… After my – ah – encounter, I read some books on the subject –”

“Like this?” said North brightly, brandishing _Demons_ like a precious artefact. 

Pitch glanced at it. “No, _real_ books.”

North’s shoulders slumped. 

“The most helpful mentioned that demons of light, when at full power, could theoretically be able to move at the actual speed of light.”

Silence fell like a sudden tombstone. 

When he got his breath back, Jack let it go in a slightly despairing chuckle. “You’re joking, right?” Then, when no answer was forthcoming: “You’re not joking.”

He tried not to imagine the glowing behemoth, with its double body, its muscular tails, its enormous jaws, swooping on him at the speed of light. It was surprisingly easy to do – all his mind could conjure up was the sight of the demon a mile away, then the sudden burst of burning death right in front of his eyes. Turns out his once-human brain couldn’t actually picture something that was outside its field of experience; it just skipped right to the result.

“Can you slow down the light?” The question burst out of him like a stray thought on fire.

Pitch threw him a undefinable look. “I could, if I was powerful enough.”

“And how powerful do you need to get?” asked Tooth.

Pitch hesitated. He clenched his fists at his sides, eyes downcast.

Part of Jack wanted to keep quiet, let Pitch handle that one on his own terms. The other part, still preoccupied by the perspective of light-speed death, won out, and said: “You can’t even shadow-travel, can you?”

Pitch sent him such a glare Jack almost felt the chill of real fear – almost. As it was, he felt only pity, regret, and a small measure of shame. Yes, Pitch had brought it upon himself. Yes, Jack had only acted to protect the children and his fellow Guardians. Yes, he didn’t feel guilty. But the emotions in him had their own life, and he couldn’t keep them away, no matter how much he tried.

The other Guardians opened their eyes wide in realization – all except, Jack noticed, Sandy, who just looked worried. “You’re _that_ weak?” Bunny cried out, always the diplomat. “How can we hope to defeat that beast if you can’t even use the most basic of your powers?”

“Oh, but that’s simple,” said Pitch darkly. “We can’t.”

* * *

 

They talked. For hours, it seemed, although Jack suspected it might have been only minutes. Time never seemed to pass in the North Pole, at least not around that time of year, with the sun shining high overhead, no matter what. Around them, yetis and elves went on with their tasks in a flurry of activity, Christmas starting to close in. From time to time, North gave them an order, and Jack could see him give the mountains of toys and gadgets a troubled glance. Jack knew what he was thinking. Would there even _be_ a Christmas this year?

They conjured up the most ridiculous ideas to try and convince Pitch – as well as themselves – that all was not lost. They could have the yetis create big colorful posters representing the demon in both his true and human form, with a text saying: “DANGER! BE SCARED!” They could have Jack freezing every fire and destroying every light in Greenville to cut at least part of the demon’s sources of power. They could have the fairies sabotage every thing they could in the tanning salon.

The problem was, none of the Guardians were convinced, and so they couldn’t convince Pitch.

As for the Man in the Moon, he kept silent.

Jack kept watching Pitch. Although he’d managed to erase the fear off his face, he still had a haunted look in his eyes, and Jack was certain that if there had been the slightest shadow he could have melted through to reach a place as far away from them, and from the demon, as possible, he would have.

But Pitch’s peculiar wings had been cut, and he had to stand there, like a bat caught in a shutter.

Finally, Sandy heaved a big sigh – so big, in fact, that it instantly broke the very loud argument that had erupted between Bunny and Tooth on a subject Jack didn’t know anything about, having stopped paying attention to anything except the memory of two malevolent red eyes and the sight of absolute dread in Pitch’s golden ones. 

As everyone turned to face him, Sandy sighed again and shook his head with an expression of such pure sadness and regret that Jack felt a shudder course through him. _He’s gonna tell us there’s no hope. That he’s leaving. That we should split and wait for the worst._

Instead, Sandman, little face as serious as Jack had ever seen it, pointed to Pitch, and drew a sand picture.

North, Tooth, Bunny, Jack, even Pitch, they all gaped. For the image that had just formed above Sandy’s head, prancing about with wild elegance, was a nightmare.

There was a silence. Thinking maybe they didn’t understand, Sandy clarified his meaning: he made a miniature sand Pitch appear, touch a strand of sand, and turn it into a nightmare. Then, crossing his arms with a solemn expression, he stared at Pitch.

Pitch looked as if he could barely believe his eyes. “You would… let me?”

Sandy nodded gravely. An image of the demon vanishing in a burst of sand, then a big cross.

“Just this once, that’s it?”

Another nod. Tooth hovered nearer, looking down at Sandy with concern. “Sandy, are you sure? Wouldn’t it weaken you?”

Sandy shrugged, smiling slightly, in a gesture that clearly meant: _We don’t have a choice anyway._

And he was right. They didn’t have any other choice.

Pitch drew himself up, staring at Sandy with a new-found appreciation. “Then we’ll have to start as soon as possible. From what you’ve told me, the demon’s using human bigotry and stupidity to gain more power, but without fear to egg them on, its progress is not as fast as it could be, so we might have a few days to prepare – possibly a few weeks if it’s lazy. However, keep in mind that, as soon as I’ll start getting more powerful, the demon will feel it. We can’t afford to lose any time.”

North nodded vigorously. “Well said! We need a battle-plan! Everyone make a circle!”

Jack glanced around. “Er… North? We’re already in a circle.”

“Fantastic! We are already working as team! Now, what do you suggest?”

Toothiana looked at Baby Tooth. The little fairy had never left their side since the beginning of the crisis, and despite all her resilience, her eyelids were drooping in exhaustion. “Well, to begin with, most of us are tired. We need a few hours of rest, to make sure we’re at our best – and that there’s no unfinished business to take care of. We’ll probably be busy for days, if not weeks, just like Pitch said.”

“So, a good siesta, very good!” said North. “Other suggestions?”

“Easter’s still a long way away,” said Bunny. “I could stay here and train with you for a time, North, if you don’t mind. I don’t think my aim is as good as it could be.”

“And I’ll be delighted to spar with you, old friend! In fact, I think Tooth and Jack should join us in training as well! What do you think?”

Toothiana nodded in agreement, and Jack grinned, a bit of hope spreading through his heart. “You know there’s nothing I love more than throwing things at you, Bunny!”

“Yeah, but can you hit me with them?” scoffed Bunny, already rising to the challenge.

“Then it is settled! And Sandy and Pitch can go at night find children to give nightmares to.” North didn’t seem as enthusiastic about this idea as he had been about fighting with his fellow Guardians, but then again, none of them were except Pitch. Sandy was looking at some sand in his hand dejectedly, and it was one of the saddest things Jack had ever seen.

“How long will it take you to get enough power from the nightmares?” Jack asked Pitch.

Pitch made a vague gesture with his long hand. “Depending on the strength of each child’s fears and how many nightmares I can make, everything from a few days to a few weeks.”

“Well,” grumbled Bunny, “thanks for clarifying, I thought we might get stuck with an uncertain timeline for once.”

“It’s still better than certain death, isn’t it?”

“Then we agree!” cried North with as much joy as he could muster. “Everyone, take a rest, and we meet here tonight!”

* * *

 

After the meeting concluded, there was a moment of hesitation, as if everyone knew what they had to do, but weren’t sure how to get there. North was the only one to leave at once, and the way he started cheerfully yelling at his yeti workers made Jack doubt that he would take any kind of rest. His departure left the room strangely empty, and the Guardians, slowly, started to drift apart. Sandy sat on a comfortable-looking chair, crossed his arms and almost immediately started snoring. Bunny found a huge sofa covered in massive red and green blankets, and, making sure that nobody was looking, buried himself under them, only the tip of his feet showing.

Toothiana smiled at Jack. It was, he thought, a rather shaky smile. “Well… here we go. I was hoping it wouldn’t get to this, but…” Shaking her head, she turned to Baby Tooth. “Now, sweetie, I have something to ask of you.”

Baby Tooth stood to attention. 

“I need you to go home, to your sisters.”

Baby Tooth’s tiny face fell. She started to protest, but Toothiana cut her off. “I know, you want to stay here and fight with us, but there is a far, far more useful thing you could do for me, for all of us. You see, while I’m here training, I won’t be able to supervise the collecting of the teeth. And if it’s not done well, I’ll be weakened. Do you understand? To fight that demon, I must be in top form, and for me to be in top form, every tooth must be dealt with perfectly. And I want this to be your job. You have more experience than your sisters and I have no doubt you’ll be amazing. Please. Do this for me?”

Baby Tooth sent Jack an imploring glance. Jack smiled at her. “Sorry, Baby Tooth. I agree with Toothiana.” He didn’t dare add what he knew was also in Toothiana’s mind: that Baby Tooth would be in far lesser danger coordinating her sisters’ efforts than staying with them in whatever perils they would be facing soon.

The little fairy looked down, bitterly disappointed, but soon frowned and nodded grimly. Toothiana smiled, infinitely relieved. “I’m proud of you. Now go, quickly. There’s not a second to lose.”

Baby Tooth snuggled to Toothiana, then to Jack, before speeding away under the bright northern sun, a barely visible speck vanishing from sight.

Toothiana gave Jack another sweet smile. “Well, that’s it. You’d better get some rest yourself, Jack.”

“Are you saying I look terrible?” said Jack, grinning.

She chuckled. “No, but you do look like you got badly sunburnt.”

Surprised, Jack floated over to a large mirror hanging on a wall, and saw that, indeed, his once snow-white skin had turned the color of a melting tomato. “Wow,” he said, gingerly touching his face. “No wonder I felt weird.” He gave himself a few light slaps. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Then you’re lucky.”

Jack turned back towards Tooth, noticing for the first time the unhealthy red glow of her skin. Her feathers were still burnt, and her eyes were drowned by shadows. 

He acted on instinct, he didn’t know why. His eyes took in the pain in Toothiana’s beautiful eyes, his hand reached out, and his fingertips brushed her cheek. A very thin layer of frost, as delicate as lace, spread out across Toothiana’s skin until it almost covered her entire face. He followed the movement with his hand, making sure no space was left untouched, until Toothiana closed her eyes in relief. Then he lowered his hand, and stepped back, almost embarrassed.

She opened her eyes, and beamed. “That was _wonderful_. How did you know to do that?”

He looked at his fingers, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. It just felt natural. Did it really help?”

But he didn’t need her enthusiastic answer to know it had. While her skin still looked a bit red, it was a much healthier color than it had been a few seconds before. Her feathers were still singed, and she still looked tired, but at least it seemed like the pain was gone.

“You will never stop surprising me, Jack Frost. Better not use that trick on humans, though. Ice usually is not good on burns.”

“Maybe my ice is _magic_!” said Jack, waggling his fingers.

Tooth laughed. “It must be. Well, I’ll be going now. I need to follow my own advice and take a good long nap. Thank you, so much, for the help.” Fluttering up to him, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “See you later.”

And she flew away, leaving Jack to contemplate his face in the mirror, along with his new healing power.

* * *

 

“Any good book you’d like to recommend?”

Pitch looked up. Jack Frost was lounging against a bookshelf, one hand in the pocket of his sweater, idly twirling his staff with the other.

Pitch turned back to the book he was holding. “If you want to make a bonfire, be my guest.” Closing the volume, he set it back on the shelf and took another, slamming it shut only a moment later. 

Jack stepped closer, face curious. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find out if North has some of the books I read, about demons and demonology. I figure while you all take your beauty sleep I might as well do something useful, and _how can anyone have more than six thousand books about Christmas alone?_ ”

Jack chuckled at Pitch’s mounting annoyance. “Need some help?”

Pitch glanced at him, and in that glance were so much unsaid that Jack’s grin froze a bit. “Last time we had this kind of tête-à-tête, you were pretty decisive about not wanting to help, I remember.”

Jack sputtered. “Oh, come on! That’s not at all the same situation and you know it!”

“Then just answer me this: do you hate that demon as much as you hate me?”

Jack gaped at Pitch, who went on: “Because if you do not, at least do me the courtesy of leaving me alone.”

With those words, Pitch turned and strode away between the sky-high bookshelves, back ramrod-straight, fists clenched.

“I never hated you.” Pitch looked up to see Jack perched upon an almost empty shelf, face set in a serious expression. “I mean, sure, I was pretty miffed when you broke my staff, and I wouldn’t have trusted you as far as I could throw you, but…”

“You seemed pretty happy when my nightmares turned on me.”

“I was happy you could do no more harm! And, yeah, maybe I was happy you got a bit of karma leveled at you.” Jack watched Pitch attentively, taking note of the minute flinch at his last words. _So that’s what you’re afraid of?_ Slowly he added, making sure his tone could leave no doubt about his sincerity: “I never wanted you hurt. Or… you know.” He gestured with his hand towards Pitch, indicating his current state of powerlessness. “And I’m not interested in payback.” He hesitated, then went on, smirking. “At least, not that kind of payback.”

An idea struck him. “By the way, how come I never went through the same thing?”

Pitch, who was in the process of consulting a catalogue of some kind, frowned in confusion. “What are you blabbering about?”

Jack jumped back to the ground, facing him. “You know: the whole ‘losing your powers’ thing. I mean, even when nobody believed in me, I still could kick your ass, as you may remember. Apart from the time when you broke my staff, I never lost any of my powers. What makes me different from you or the other Guardians?”

Pitch actually seemed to ponder that a bit. “I guess,” he said at last, “it is because your powers are linked to a force of nature which existed before you did and hence will still exist if you disappear. Fear, wonder, hope, memories, dreams, all of that depends on people’s imagination. And imagination is fragile and fickle. You saw it yourself, how fast children stopped believing because of one tooth, or started believing because of… whatever it was you did at the time.” 

Jack rested his chin on his staff, thinking. “Maybe. Now that you mention it… By the way,” he went on brightly, “did I tell you that I don’t even need my staff anymore? I mean, I still keep it with me, and it still helps me when I need something faster or bigger, but –”

“Do you have an off-switch?” Pitch snapped, exasperated.

Jack chuckled. “Aww,” he said teasingly, “you look even cuter than Bunny when you’re annoyed.”

Was that a _blush_? Or maybe just, reasoned Jack when Pitch turned away from him, hissing like a cat, a flush of anger. Not one to let open hostility slow him down, Jack got ready to battle on when a different splash of red caught the corner of his eye. “Hey!”

Both Pitch and the yeti turned. 

The yeti, a rather short individual with bright orange fur that made him look like an orang-utan, approached.

“Can you help us? We’re looking for a specific kind of books.”

The yeti’s warm brown eyes brightened, and he grunted encouragingly.

“Apparently we’ve found the librarian,” said Jack to Pitch. Then, to the yeti: “We want books about demons, you know, the old kind. Think Dark Ages.”

The yeti led them to a tiny shelf in a tiny corner of the gigantic library. The books accumulating dust on the shelves, however, were anything but tiny. They stood out from the rest of the volumes like bloaty old toads trying to hide in a crowd of graceful little green frogs. As far as Jack could understand from the yeti, which admittedly wasn’t much, North had already looked through all of them and found nothing of note aside from what he told the other Guardians. North, though, had been in a hurry, so Pitch and Jack went to work, trying to be more thorough. 

Well, Pitch went to work. Jack cast one look at the old moldy pages, discovered he couldn’t decipher one word, and just flipped through the illustrations. Several times he looked up, highly tempted to tease Pitch some more, but decided against it. Pitch still seemed on edge, and the large, thick volume he was holding would have made for a dangerous weapon.

After long, long minutes of absolute silence save for the sound of pages turning, Pitch made a small noise. Jack perked up. “Found something?” he asked eagerly.

Pitch didn’t answer. He kept reading, slowly, carefully, with such intense focus it made Jack feel ridiculously scatterbrained next to him, just because he couldn’t decide if he was more fascinated by whatever it was Pitch had found, or by the way his lips were mouthing the written words.

Once he’d finished, Pitch stood unmoving, staring into space. Losing patience, Jack closed his own book with as much noise as he could – drawing an irritated “shhh” from the red yeti – and Pitch blinked, finally looking up.

“So? What is it?” said Jack.

For a few seconds he thought Pitch was going to snap at him again, but instead he answered: “A banishment ritual.”

That seemed promising. Jack put down his book and stepped closer to Pitch, glancing at the open pages. “What does it say?”

“It describes a way to both summon or banish a demon of light. It is very specific, though. The ritual can only be successful if carried out in the demon’s presence, by a person wielding some ancient and, ah, well-used tool of human facture and pronouncing an exact sequence of words next to a properly prepared ritualistic circle.”

An illustration showed said circle. It seemed to Jack both elegant and relatively simple; he’d done frost designs much more complicated than that. He tapped the page. “Looks easy. And it would send the demon away? And what exactly does ‘well-used tool’ mean?”

“Well, for instance, a weapon that was actually used to kill someone instead of just being decorative.”

Jack winced a bit at that, but he was not going to let such a detail bother him. “There must be loads of stuff like that in museums or old castles! Why not try it? That way you wouldn’t even have to power up!”

“As much as your faith in my abilities warms my heart,” sneered Pitch, “there are two problems with this. First, the exact sequence of words I was talking about? It needs to include the demon’s name – its _true_ name, not the one he might be using with the humans. Second, the, ah, ‘master of ceremony’ can only be a human. Who would, of course, be in terrible peril.” He cast a quick, searing look at Jack. “Anyone you’d like to volunteer?”

Only when hope deserted him did Jack realize how much space it had taken in such little time. Of course, the only humans the Guardians knew were children, or young teenagers. Of course, none of the Guardians, least of all Jack, would even think of putting any of them in any kind of danger – especially if said danger included the risk of being burned alive. Plus, even if they somehow got an adult to help, how could they ever find the demon’s true name? They could hardly expect to find it embroidered on its clothes!

“I thought not,” said Pitch. He closed the book shut. “However, it might still be useful. I’ll keep–”

The tremor shook the entire library. The shelves tipped over, the windows shattered, the ceiling cracked. It was only because they stood in so small and sheltered a corner, that Jack and Pitch avoided being crushed by an avalanche of wood and books and torn apart by glass shrapnel. As it was, Jack had to tackle Pitch to save him from falling debris. As he turned back, he caught a brief glimpse of the yeti librarian, his fur redder than before, his brown eyes wide with shock. Next thing he knew, the amiable beast had disappeared, swallowed by dust and wreckage.

Pitch gripped Jack’s shoulder so hard it hurt. “What’s happening?!”

“I don’t know!”

Another tremor, and this time Jack recognized the sound that came with it: the unmistakable boom of a distant explosion.

Pitch’s complexion, naturally ashen, had turned death pale. “It’s here!”

“No way!” shouted Jack, fighting his mounting panic. “How could it know we’re here?”

“Does it _matter_? We need to get out now!”

“Wait!”

But Pitch was already scaling the moutain of debris, jumping, climbing and occasionally squeezing his thin body through small openings in his haste to get to the doors. Jack didn’t lose time arguing and sprinted after him, marvelling at the way Pitch managed to negociate all obstacles without the use of shadows or levitation. Marvelling was good, it was safe. It kept him from focusing on the other emotions setting his mind aflame, or the sounds that were coming from beyond the walls. It kept things simple.

They never got to the doors, though. They were hardly a few feet away from them when they burst open.

Pitch yelped and leaped back, Jack raised his staff. 

But it was only Bunnymund. Bunnymund, whiskers burned to a crisp, boomerangs gone, eyes drowned in horror. Bunnymund alone.

“Quick! Jack! You’ve got to go!” 

“What’s happening? Bunny! Is it the demon?”

“No time to talk, Jack, you have to leave now! You and Pitch! Right now! Here! I took everything I could!”

He shoved them in Jack’s arms: three snowglobes, ready for use. Jack stared down at them, uncomprehending. “But where are the others?”

Bunny glanced back through the library doors. Beyond, only a thick curtain of smoke and fire could be seen – and shapes, dark and blurry, moving so fast it was impossible to identify any of them. He swallowed, turning back to face Jack. 

“North and Tooth are trying to slow it down, but they won’t last long. Please, Jack, you have to get Pitch to safety, he’s the only hope we have left now!”

“But what about Sandy?”

“Stop being an idiot and _do as I say!_ ” Bunny almost screeched.

“Bunny, we _need_ Sandy, remember? Where is he?”

Bunny kept glancing over his shoulder. Only now did Jack notice he was shaking all over. 

“Jack, when this thing attacked it went straight for Sandy. Maybe it remembered how he had managed to hinder its movements last time, I don’t know, but – Jack, do you have any idea what happens to sand when it overheats?”

Jack staggered backwards, overwhelmed. Not Sandman, not again…

Another explosion, closer. Jack hardly heard it. He felt sharp fingers digging through the flesh of his arm. He looked up, right into golden eyes shimmering with fright. “Quick, Frost, throw one of these things!”

“But –”

“Do as he says!” shouted Bunny, running back towards the flames. “Stay together! Protect Pitch!”

He leapt through the smoke, disappearing from sight. 

“Frost! FROST!”

Jack blinked, secured the snowglobes more tightly against his chest, and grabbed the one closest to his right hand.

The explosion blew apart the library doors, as well as most of the wall. Jack and Pitch were thrown back like ragdolls. The snowglobe Jack had been holding shattered, its portal drowning in flames. He cried out, clutching at the others with shaking hands – only to realize they had rolled away from him. He had lost his staff. A few feet away from him, Pitch was staggering to his feet, before looking up, and freezing in terror.

There stood the demon.

But it wasn’t the beautiful woman from before. It wasn’t the superimposed image in the tanning salon. It was the real thing. So huge it had to crouch to get into the room, despite having destroyed most of the wall. So bright it hurt Jack’s eyes, despite them being well used to the sight of sunlit snow. So massive each of its steps took the building like an earthquake. Envelopped in flames, it melted anything in its immediate vicinity.

Crushed by the heat, Jack felt he was going to choke. He could barely move. But the demon’s attention was focused on one thing only.

“Pitch Black,” it said, and while the tone was calm, the voice was all violence.

It stepped forward. For the first time, Jack noticed its wings, unfolding wide, starting to glow white.

Where did he find the strength? He couldn’t have said. But Jack found it. He leapt, grabbed his staff, and conjured up the most powerful attack he could. The frost lightning hit the wings with full force, momentarily smothering the flames and dampening the heat.

The demon, growling, shook its wings. The ice shattered and melted instantly, and one second later it was as if the attack never happened. 

But that one second had been well employed.

Rolling on the ground, Jack picked up a snowglobe, before jumping up in the air, grabbing Pitch by the collar, and throwing the globe as hard as he could. He didn’t have time to fully consider his options. He just hoped his choice was the right one. And as he leapt, pulling Pitch behind him, he tried to ignore the roar of rage.

There was one last explosion, a scream – not his.

Then icy darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this one was hard to write. So many things to keep track of...  
> I hope to have Chapter 6 ready for next week-end. Enjoy!


	6. Alone from here

The world was dark, cold, and wet.

All in all, it felt strangely familiar.

Jack opened his eyes. No blinding light, no fire. In fact, nothing. The darkness he felt through his closed eyelids was actual darkness. He looked up, down, around, and saw nothing but vague ondulating shapes that didn’t get any clearer with time. He was in water, the surface nowhere near. He felt crushed. No portal left.

Pitch!

Where was he?

_Where was he?!_

In a sudden burst of panic, Jack lashed around, the water weighting his arms, slowing him down. Unseen unknown things brushed his skin, the bare sole of his feet. Seaweed? Fish? He tried sending out some bright frost to give him light, but it hardly did anything except flicker weakly and die. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to, not really, lung capacity had stopped being a problem ages ago, when he first died – but he still _wanted_ air, wanted its lightness, its security. Where was he? How could one of North’s snowglobes open on _this_?

He groped around, with fingers and toes and staff, for what seemed like centuries, before his foot caught on something. Clothing, heavy with water, but its shadowy substance unmistakable. Pitch’s coat.

Jack reached out blindly, inwardly sighing in relief when his hand gripped the fabric, hoisting Pitch closer to him. Any movement, in such depths, was uneasy, and Jack had to secure his staff under his armpit in order to be able to get Pitch where he wanted him. Sliding his free arm around the other’s thin waist, he used his other hand to check on Pitch while trying not to get hit in the face by the hook of his staff and, no, definitely not panicking when he realized Pitch’s eyelids were closed and his mouth was open and he was probably swallowing water and –

_Stay together! Protect Pitch!_

Bunny’s words echoed in his head, melted with the memory of a scream.

He tried shaking Pitch, his eyes darting around all the while in search of something, anything, that could tell him where they were and how they could get to air – because if Jack was pretty sure he couldn’t drown anymore, he didn’t know anything about Pitch’s constitution, only that his skin felt abnormally hot even in the icy waters, and also…

Jack pressed the palm of his hand against Pitch’s long neck.

There! Under the right ear, against the feverish skin, a pulsation. A heartbeat.

Clutching his fingers in relief, Jack immediately started kicking his feet, trying to swim upward. As long as Pitch was alive, there was a chance he would wake up and help them both reach the surface, wherever it was. Then they would find a safe place, and contact the Guardians – who would be alive, of course they would be alive – and find a way to defeat the monster once and for all…

Kick, kick. Spreading his toes as wide as he could, glad he didn’t wear any shoes, Jack thought briefly about taking off his sweater before the impracticality of such an operation discouraged him. No way he was letting go of either Pitch, or his staff.

Kick, kick. Thin as he was, Pitch sure was heavy. Jack’s arms were starting to ache, and as he continually flattened his hand against Pitch’s neck, feeling his pulse, he couldn’t help noticing it getting steadily weaker, more erratic. They were still in darkness.

Kick, kick. Jack started to wonder if the absence of light was due to them being still too deep, or nighttime smothering all visibility even near the surface, or himself having gone blind.

Kick, kick. Jack stopped thinking. It only wasted energy.

Kick, kick. Jack stopped.

He stopped because, for the first time, he was seeing something very clearly. Something that was moving through the water, a much darker shape of real density. Something that was coming towards them at great speed.

Something huge.

Desperately, he paddled, contracting his entire body to try and go elsewhere, anywhere, as long as it was outside of the thing’s trajectory. Then, realizing he wasn’t making any progress, he did the opposite and ceased all movements, letting himself and Pitch drop like stones, playing dead. He gripped at his staff, feeling his knuckles go white. Waiting.

The thing apparently had much better eyesight than he did, for at the exact moment Jack used to attack, it veered right, a sharp, lightning-fast move that didn’t leave Jack any room to manoeuver or recuperate – one second later, spinning with dreadful grace, it was on him.

The impact was violent enough to empty all the air that had remained in Jack’s lungs. His head hit a large wall of smooth skin and hard muscles, his staff caught on a fin almost as big as he was, and rebounding like a pinball, he lost his grip. 

_No!_

His hands lashed out in horror. Again, he saw stars, as the motion of the powerful fins – four of them, from what Jack could distinguish – propulsed the great body forward, against him, making him slide along the crushing chest like a broken puppet. They were moving at frightening speed, Jack’s nails scraping harmlessly at the thick skin, trying to grab something, anything –

– It found the hem of Pitch’s coat, and latched onto it, hoping it wouldn’t tear, trying to think –

He had lost his staff. It has slipped downward, somewhere in the darkness below, out of reach. He had a feeling his powers wouldn’t be able to do much against a creature so obviously used to cold temperatures, so obviously confident of its own abilities, so obviously hungry…

Then, suddenly, they burst out of the water.

Jack rolled on hard rock. Head ringing, legs aching, he staggered to his feet, taking in his new surroundings. A large cave, filled with breathable, miraculous air, and a collection of strange, luminous plants. But Jack didn’t get any time to revel in being able to see again, because the monster was right in front of him, and he understood, immediately, that he had no chance.

It was at least as big as the demon of light, if not bigger – a mass of blue-green terror advancing on Jack with amazing agility despite its size and the fact that it didn’t have any legs, just its fins to pound the floor with. Its large black eyes glared at Jack from the height of its long thick neck. Its mouth opened on sharp teeth, ready to bite –

“Wait!”

The creature stopped, glanced back.

Pitch was getting up, coughing up water, stumbling, looking weak and ill and every bit the drowned cat. But he was also looking at the beast with no fear and no hostility, pausing to get his breath back before panting in a hoarse voice: “He’s a friend, Nessie.”

_Nessie?_

Gaping, Jack could only watch as the creature turned around and hopped back to where Pitch was leaning on a wall, and without taking any further notice of Jack, carefully pressed its great big head against Pitch’s chest. Pitch blanched, as much as he could anyway, but didn’t move, only raising his hand – the one not currently clutching at a jutting piece of rock in an obvious ploy to stay upright – to pet the beast on its large forehead.

A minute or two went by, Jack staring, Nessie cuddling, Pitch half-petting half-lying on its head – all of them dripping wet on the cold hard floor.

Finally, Jack closed his mouth and stepped forward, fascinated. He’d heard of the Loch Ness Monster, of course – who hadn’t? – and he had suspected for centuries that it really existed, despite how vague the other spirits, including the Guardians, could be at times about it; but it was the first time he was seeing more than a bad photograph of the legendary being. Now that he was looking at it properly, the fear lifted from his eyes, he could see it had a certain beauty to it, with its graceful curves and the elegant splatter of color along its broad back. With its mouth closed, hiding its intimidating teeth, it didn’t seem so terrible – in fact, it looked like a big, affectionate seal…

Nessie opened its eyes, and seeing Jack hardly a few feet away from it, jumped back like a spooked horse.

Jack instinctively crouched into a fighting pose, ready to defend himself, but soon straightened up in realization. Nessie wasn’t attacking. It was _scared_.

Jack had always felt a terrible pang in his heart when animals got scared of him. For centuries they had been, after all, the only living, mortal beings who could see him and react to his touch. Reaching out with an open palm, trying to look as unthreatening as possible, he took a tiny step forward. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Pitch, who had closed his eyes, wheezed out: “She’s a girl.”

Jack blinked. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“… How do you know?”

Pitch groaned, which seemed to bring Nessie’s attention back to him. It – well, _she_ – looked tense and worried. Once again, Jack felt a pang. “It’s nothing, I’m just annoying him. I do that all the time, he loves it.”

Pitch didn’t answer at that, and feeling the poison of fear spread back in his veins, Jack turned to look at him, and at once rushed over. 

“You’re hurt!”

His outburst finally scared Nessie off completely, and she jumped back in the water, disappearing from view. But Jack was too worried to care. His eyes anxiously examined what had been hidden from him, first by the dark waters of Loch Ness, then by Nessie’s massive head. The skin along the entire left side of Pitch’s neck, from ear to collarbone, extending to shoulder and the upper left part of his chest, was burnt. No, not burnt. Burnt _off_.

Horrified, Jack reached out to try and pull Pitch’s coat aside so he could take a better look. The cloth appeared magically intact, giving him some hope, but Pitch shoved him back, hissing.

“Don’t touch me! This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” stammered Jack, too distressed to feel real anger. “How is this my fault? I just saved you, remember? Well, me and Nessie.”

Pitch staggered away, glaring daggers when Jack made a move to follow. “You and your precious Guardians – first you throw me down a pit, then, when you realize I’m actually useful to you, you bring me back without thinking anything through – like the possibility that the demon could see us, and follow us – and who thought it was a great idea to go to the place where the sun doesn’t set for _months_?” He faltered, trembling. “And now they’re all dead, and we might as well be!”

“Don’t say that!” cried Jack. “They’re tough, they’ll pull through, you know that –”

“So what if they’re still alive? You saw what happened, even all united they couldn’t keep up with that monster for more than a few minutes.”

“But with you and me, if you got your powers back –”

“ _How?_ Tell me, Frost, how do you propose we do it? Sandman was the only one with a plan, and the means to execute it. Now he’s shattered somewhere in the snow.”

Jack closed his eyes, his body taunt with pain. “ _Don’t say that._ ”

But the dark voice, trembling with livid anger, fear – despair – went on unabated: “The only option left is for me to scare as many children as possible, as brutally and completely as possible. Who would you suggest we start with? Oh, I know, why not that little boy who likes you so much?”

“ _Stop it!_ ”

At this stage, it was nothing but instinct; Jack had even forgotten that he was now powerful enough to cause damage with his bare hands. He lashed out, physically, sending a wave of hard frost through the air – hitting Pitch head-on, throwing him against the rock. He stood, frozen in shock, while Pitch collapsed to the ground, coughing and moaning and clutching with shaking hands at an injury he didn’t even dare to touch.

After a few seconds of absolute nothing, a sound broke the silence – horrendous, nightmarish – a laugh.

Weakly leaning his back against the rock, Pitch sniggered, almost hiccuping with pain, his golden eyes gleaming and unfocused. “See? What a brilliant team we make.”

Jack rushed towards him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to do that. It’s just, Jamie and his friends…” He stammered off, hit by a thought. Feeling himself pale, he slid his hands into the pockets of his sweater, releasing a relieved sigh when his fingers encountered a thick sheet of paper. With infinite precautions, and very aware of Pitch’s attentive eyes on him, he took it out and unfolded it. He smiled. The water, incredibly, hadn’t damaged it.

He turned the paper around, showing it to Pitch. “They gave me that. I’m…” He looked down at it, before carefully folding it back and putting it away. “I’m protective of them. But…” He looked Pitch in the eye, trying to ignore for now the bright, frightening red marring the ashen skin, projecting all his earnestness, all his sincerity in his stare. “That doesn’t mean we can’t find a solution. We’ll just – we’ll think about it later. For now our best bet is to stay together.” As Pitch didn’t answer, Jack took his chance and reached out, again, for the wound.

Pitch was probably just groggy from his agony, for when he saw Jack’s hand getting close, he threw himself back with such violence the back of his head hit the rock, making him cry out. “I don’t need your help!”

“Yes you do,” said Jack as calmly as he could. His hand was trembling slightly. “And I can help you. I can try and heal your wound. Please, trust me.”

“Remind me what happened about one minute ago? We can’t trust each other.”

“Please, I don’t want to play that game,” said Jack quietly. “You’re hurt, and that looks very, very bad. Come on.”

Pitch stared at him for a few more seconds, gaze as bright as starlight, before looking away. “And what do you propose to do? Freeze over my wound?”

“Exactly.”

Pitch positively glowered at that. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not! I just discovered that today! Toothiana was burnt too, before, and when I saw that, I – I don’t know, I just thought of covering her burn with frost and it, it healed. Not completely, but, you know, it was better than nothing. She felt much better afterwards – she told me so herself.” He glanced down at Pitch’s wound, and cringed slightly. “I’m not sure it’s going to be as effective with you, but… why not try it?”

Pitch took a deep breath, released it, then nodded.

Biting his tongue – more words wouldn’t help now – Jack reached out for the third time. The tip of his fingers hovered above the highest point of the wound, just below Pitch’s ear. He hesitated. What if this new power of his only worked on Toothiana – or the other Guardians? What if it hurt Pitch more?

He looked up. Pitch’s face was turned away, jaw tense, eyes tightly shut. Waiting.

Jack summoned his frost, and sent it forward.

He immediately had to throw his hand out to grip Pitch’s opposite shoulder in an effort to immobilize him. Either because he was in too much pain, or because he was too weak, Pitch didn’t try to shake him off, even as his body contorted in agony. Jack wavered, feeling torn. Should he stop? Was whatever progress he could make – if he could make any – worth what the process put Pitch through?

But just as he watched, he saw the angry red patches of skin surrounding the worst parts of the burn become greyer. On any other person it would not have been any kind of good sign, but the color was closer to Pitch’s natural complexion than it was before. Reassured, Jack kept his left hand firmly on Pitch’s right shoulder, and carried on.

At first, he only grazed the skin, even where it wasn’t completely burnt off, afraid of how Pitch would react to increased contact. As a result, improvements were very slow to come, and only seemed to affect the lesser burns. However, the lower Jack’s hand slid down Pitch’s neck, the more relaxed Pitch’s body became. His breathing turned more even. It was working.

Jack’s fingers had almost reached the collarbone when Pitch muttered:

“Why don’t you use your whole hand?”

Jack stopped. Now that he could see the extent of the damage on his throat, he was surprised Pitch could even bear to talk. “Er…”

“You can make frost with your whole hand, can’t you?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then do it. It’ll be over faster.”

Jack contemplated the thought. “It might hurt more. Much more.”

Pitch swallowed heavily. Jack watched, horrified, the effects of the movement on the burnt-out flesh. “Just do it.”

Jack felt a headache coming. He hadn’t become a Guardian for this.

He steeled himself. “All right. But try not to move, okay?”

Drawing his hand back slightly, he summoned enough frost to cover it entirely. He could still feel through it, which should at least ensure he wouldn’t go too far and accidentally injure Pitch further, if such a thing was possible. Then, choosing to begin again at the top of the neck, he did what he had hoped he would not have to do, and gently pressed his fingers and his entire palm on the burn.

Pitch jerked sharply, but it was the extent of his reaction. In fact, as Jack spread his frost around his hand in a way that had indeed been impossible for him to do earlier, Pitch visibly calmed down. As Jack slipped his hand under the – still miraculously intact, he would have to ask Pitch about that – fabric of his coat to reach the part of the wound covering his shoulder, he almost jumped when Pitch suddenly asked: 

“Why aren’t you talking?”

“What?”

“You’re always talking.”

Jack glanced up. Pitch was not looking at him, eyes closed, head resting against the rock. He looked drowsy.

“I’m concentrating.”

A beat, then, unable to resist: “Why, do you miss the melodious sound of my voice?”

“The horrendous noise you usually make would keep me from going to sleep.”

That was new. Toothiana hadn’t seemed sleepy. Then again, Jack hadn’t been that frostily intimate with Toothiana. He could feel Pitch’s skin – the good, almost healthy bits of it, anyway – shivering under his touch. He wondered if it was the cold, or something else. Probably just the cold.

“Maybe you should go to sleep. It might be good for you.”

“I don’t want to sleep with you here.”

Jack smirked, thinking of the thousands of things he could say in answer to that particularly unfortunate turn of phrase. Choosing to be the angel for once, he simply replied: “Then what do you want me to talk about?”

Pitch shrugged using his valid shoulder. “Use your endlessly puerile imagination.”

But Jack’s endlessly puerile imagination seemed to have hit a wall. He was starting to feel light-headed himself. It might have been a side-effect of the long, mentally and physically exhausting hours he had just spent, or of the sustained, unusual use of his powers. Or it might have been how close he was to Pitch, almost straddling him, massaging him with one frosty hand while the other hand – and he wondered why Pitch hadn’t said anything about that – had progressively migrated over to the left side of Pitch’s neck, his thumb slowly stroking the soft sensitive skin there.

“Frost…” said Pitch, and it might have been a warning, but it sounded like a moan.

Jack swallowed and shifted slightly. His right hand moved down Pitch’s chest, under the half-open fabric of his coat, and Pitch hissed. The wound was deeper and nastier there. Jack, concentrating furiously, sent everything he had left onto the hideous burn. Then, as wave after wave of soft, delicate frost drew patterns like a spider web over red absence-of-skin, he finally started to talk.

“It knew what he was doing. The demon.”

He felt Pitch tense again. 

“I mean, it didn’t lose any time, did it? Went straight at you. The first time, when we fought it, you know? It laughed at us. We were a joke. But you…”

Jack slid his hand upward again, working the slowly-healing skin between throat and collarbone without realizing his fingers and palms were steadily turning into a caress what had simply been a massage.

“It _fears_ you. It aimed straight at your heart.”

Pitch scoffed. “I don’t have one.”

Feeling a bit of spirit coming back with Pitch’s familiar sarcasm, Jack smiled innocently and slid his hand – his left hand – down to the center of Pitch’s chest, the place the demon had barely missed. “Funny, I can feel it right here.” And he could. Pitch’s heart was beating, loud and strong against his palm. 

Jack’s heart had never had a normal beat since his death and rebirth; it was always weak, sluggish, except in times of great upset. Whatever Pitch was, what sort of spirit or entity, he wasn’t like him.

Of course, that was the moment Pitch chose to push him off, sending him sprawling on his backside. The bogeyman straightened up and gingerly touched his wound.

It looked much better, that was sure. But it was far from healed.

Pitch looked over at Jack, expression guarded.

“You look tired.”

“I can still continue, if you’d like. I’m sure I can do more.”

But Pitch held up his hand. “No. Enough for now. Maybe later.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “Thank you.”

Jack sent him his shiniest smile. “Eh, what are friends for?”

And Nessie chose _that_ particular moment to spring out from the water into the cave. Between her jaws, she held Jack’s staff.

* * *

 

After spending a good twenty minutes petting and cuddling Nessie with an enthusiasm that almost made the timid beast slip back into the water, Jack, all drowsiness gone at the contact of his beloved staff, started to explore the cave.

There wasn’t much to see, but what was there was intriguing. The luminescent plants that Jack had noticed before – those who looked like the result of a forbidden love triangle between algae, mushrooms and fireflies – were in fact, as he discovered in amazement, slugs. Really beautiful, delicate, incredibly diverse slugs who moved very slowly along the walls of the cave, as well as the ceiling, continuously changing its appearance and lighting. They also were changing colors, in such wild and dazzling ways no chameleon – or Easter eggs – could hope to achieve. Thanks to them, despite the lack of sunlight, the cave could be lit almost like a summer beach, or sweetly darkened like a moonless night.

Jack felt a gaze upon his back, and turned. It wasn’t who he was expecting.

Nessie looked at him with her soft, thoughtful eyes. Jack wasn’t sure where the word “thoughtful” had come from, but it appeared to him to be the absolute truth. Now that he was really looking at her and not only at her teeth or her size, he was noticing more and more things about her – like the way she could look down at you and still give an impression of utmost shyness, or the incredible sensitivity that shone through her eyes.

He smiled at her. “These your slugs?” he asked.

He wasn’t sure she could understand him. She glanced at him, glanced at the slugs, and tilted her neck in a graceful arc, almost hiding her face. Then, glancing at him again, she nodded slowly, before pressing her snout under her fin.

He laughed and patted her gently on her enormous shoulder. “They’re beautiful. I didn’t even know slugs could be this pretty! Although they’re not as pretty as you.”

She straightened up, and hopped closer to the wall. And she started singing.

Not with a human voice, of course. Jack wasn’t even sure she had a voice. But sounds came out of her throat, something deep and profoundly inhuman and strangely soothing. It wasn’t exactly melodious, not even as beautiful as a whale song, but it was sweet and comfy. It felt like home. 

The slugs on the wall started moving faster. At first Jack thought – almost hoped, to be honest – that they were going to dance… somehow…, but instead they seemed to settle into a pattern. It took quite a while, for even at top speed slugs have never been sprinters, but finally the pattern became clearer, and Jack understood what it was: it was a snowflake.

Correction: it was a multicolor, incredibly detailed, staggeringly beautiful snowflake.

Jack found himself grinning like a lunatic. “Nessie, it’s amazing! Is that for me?”

Nessie nodded again. 

“Do you often draw? I mean, for people like me?”

She almost looked scared at the prospect. Jack chuckled. “Okay, mostly for yourself, I get it. You and your magical slugs are the greatest team. I would love to see more.”

He thought she would be delighted at the idea of showing off again, but was surprised when she shook her head in an unmistakable “no”.

“Okay, another time then.”

After a few long seconds during which they stayed there, looking at each other in the awkwardness typical of those who don’t share the same language – or at least not totally –, Nessie gave a great big huff through her nose, before closing her eyes and laying her head and neck down to the ground. After a second or two, she opened her eyes again and looked inquisitively at Jack.

It shamed him how long it took him to get that. “Oh! It’s nap time!”

She nodded vigorously before giving him a slight bump to the chest with her head. (Slight as it was, it made him stumble.)

“Okay, okay, I get it! I need a nap too? I really look tired, don’t I?” He felt like it too. His staff had only given him a temporary boost; now he suspected he was a few blinks away from dozing off on his feet. It was slightly disturbing; Jack very rarely felt any need to sleep at all. “Very well; lead the way, then. You’re the host.”

She blinked at him timidly, turned around, then started hopping towards a nook between the rocks he hadn’t noticed yet. The way in the narrow was lit by a few dozen slugs, which gave it an intimate glow that only made Jack sleepier. He barely found the energy to marvel at the way Nessie negociated the tight turns with her huge body.

Finally they entered what looked like a smaller version of the first cave, lit with the same kind of night-light slugs, all settled on the ceiling, imitating a star-lit sky. Jack wondered briefly if Nessie ever slept under the real sky, and if she once did and now couldn’t anymore because of the humans there, if she wished she could get it back. He wondered only briefly because, as sad as the image was to him, his train of thought found itself completely derailed by the sight that greeted his eyes.

While the ground in the rest of the cave was pure, solid rock, this particular nook was completely covered with a sort of bedding. From what Jack could see, it was a mix of sand and aquatic plants, most of it dry except at the periphery where it exhaled some kind of sweet, fortunately not too heady flavor. It was soft and smooth under his bare feet, and much thicker in the middle, where he supposed Nessie usually slept. But it wasn’t empty.

Pitch was there, asleep.

He was lying in the fetal position, on his uninjured side, his knees drawn back towards his chest and his head resting on his bent arms. Crouching in front of him, Jack could see the red of his burns, glowing slightly in the dark. For the first time, he wondered if the burn wasn’t more than a burn – if it was magical, and if that was the reason he could heal it. Then he wondered, with a frown, if it wouldn’t worsen later, like poison sometimes does. 

He glanced back at Nessie. She was gone.

“You scoundrel,” he said quietly. Amazing how such a big thing could disappear without making a sound.

Yawning, he laid down next to Pitch, far enough not to accidentally hit him during the night – … or worse… – but close enough to be able to get to him in a second if he was needed. He wasn’t sure in what set of circumstances he could be needed there, but one can never be too careful, he told himself. So, settling in a mirror position to Pitch, he watched over him with thoughts cascading in his head, until his eyelids closed of their own volition and he slid into the dreamland.

* * *

 

“Nuh… No, please, I…”

Jack woke up.

Weakly, he clinged to the dream he had been having. A dream of childish, trusting eyes full of wonder. Long, light brown hair framing a soft face. A laugh. _You can’t catch me, Jack!_ Warmth. Love. Home.

He woke up with his eyes full of unshed tears, and his heart filled with peace. He felt disoriented.

Then his eyes focused on the sight in front of him, and he woke up completely.

Pitch was still in the same position, but something was evidently wrong. He seemed to be in great pain, his entire body tense and shuddering, his hands clenching and unclenching, the tendons on the sides of his long neck jutting out like distress signals. And he was moaning, the sound of his hoarse broken voice incredibly disturbing in the quietness of the chamber.

Jack’s first thought was that Pitch’s wound was acting up. Rolling to his knees, he crept up to Pitch and, without hesitation, applied his frost-covered hand to Pitch’s injury. But the contact, instead of calming Pitch down, only seemed to agitate him further. Jack found his wrist trapped in a vice-like grip and stared in bewilderment as the grey knuckles turned white.

“Ow!” He barely managed to muffle his cry. “Ow. Okay. Bad idea. Pitch. Pitch, let go.”

“I swear… I didn’t… I didn’t want to –”

Jack fell silent, suddenly realizing Pitch was not talking to him and, in fact, despite the slight pain caused by his over-enthusiastic grip, was not hurting him or attacking him. His eyes were still closed, his eyelids moving with an intensity Jack had only seen on children having…

… having nightmares.

Jack stopped trying to free his wrist and watched with growing understanding as Pitch tried to twist himself away from an invisible threat without letting go of Jack, as if he was torn between getting himself to safety and keeping contact with the only other being he could touch. At one point, he curled himself into a tight ball, clutching Jack’s hand against his chest, on his face the most heartwrenching expression Jack had ever seen there – and he couldn’t bear it.

“It’s the demon, isn’t it?” he whispered, laying down next to the miserable form, wincing as Pitch gripped his wrist tighter and quaked as if violently hit by something. “Pitch, listen to me.” He slipped his other hand where it had been earlier, between the collar of his coat, against the warm skin of his neck. He squeezed slightly, making sure his gesture couldn’t be considered a threat. “Pitch, it can’t hurt you. You’re under Loch Ness, Pitch, there’s, like, several tons of water between you and that big dumb fireball. And Nessie’s right here.” That was a great big lie, but whatever. “Do you think Nessie’s gonna let that brute lay a hand on you? She adores you.”

Pitch’s fingers, the ones that weren’t deadlocked around Jack’s wrist, came up like a shot and clenched around Jack’s free hand. Jack scuttled even closer, not caring anymore if Pitch suddenly woke up and punched him into the other side of the room. Pitch’s heart was beating wildly under his caressing fingertips, and he pressed his forehead against the bogeyman’s, talking non-stop, about Nessie, about how beautiful and peaceful and safe her home was, about how he could cure burns, about how much he cared about Pitch despite everything that had happened…

It felt weird, saying all of that and not knowing where half of it came from. Even weirder to feel Pitch progressively unwind under his touch and his words, to see his brow unfurrowing and his face settling back into the slackness of real sleep. But it also felt wonderful.

After a few minutes, Jack considered untangling himself, but Pitch was still holding onto him like a newborn clutching the finger of an adult. So he settled as comfortably as he could, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

* * *

 

When he woke up next, this time of his own volition, he was alone.

If he felt any crushing disappointment at the fact, he didn’t let it bother him. He just got up and ajusted his sweater, which always had a tendency to bunch up after laying down for a length of time. The slugs on the ceiling were much brighter now, and Jack wondered if they were supposed to give the time of day as well as light up the room. If that was the case, he guessed it was about eleven o’clock, or perhaps one p.m. Or perhaps four p.m. He wasn’t good with clocks.

He stepped out of the chamber, ready to greet the surprises of a new day.

In fact, there wasn’t much in ways of surprises. Pitch was there, looking much better and definitely more amiable, but there was still a sharp edge to him and he didn’t let Jack get too close until Jack managed to convince him to look at his burn again. Then he convinced him to try the frost touch again. It went even better than the first time, except that Pitch didn’t say a single word and Jack didn’t even dare put his other hand anywhere near him.

Yet Jack observed how Pitch leaned ever-so-slightly – and sometimes much less slightly – into his hand, and how he would often look at him with an undecipherable expression on his face when he thought Jack couldn’t see him.

Several days went by – as far as Jack could tell, anyway. They settled into a routine. 

In the morning they nibbled on what little food they had. Nessie always brought them a share of her meals, be it algae, fish or seafood. The problem was: she was absolutely terrified of fire, and so Pitch wouldn’t even hear of making one. (Jack couldn’t help thinking Pitch wouldn’t have wanted to get near a fire anyway.) So they could only eat all of that raw, and as much as they tried to please Nessie, they weren’t very good at pretending.

They spent the remainder of the morning avoiding each other, Jack contemplating the slug patterns, Pitch generally spending hours petting Nessie, and Jack would have thought the sight adorable if he hadn’t felt so frustrated.

In the afternoon, they usually gathered up enough determination to talk about their problem, mainly how to get Pitch powerful enough to take down the demon. It never went anywhere. Jack wanted to go out and fight, find a trace of the other Guardians, perhaps search for other allies. Pitch only wanted to hide for the rest of his remaining life. His own words, and no matter how many times he said it, it always hurt Jack to hear them.

In the evening, they would settle for a séance of frost-healing. It got slightly more awkward as the days went on. Jack tried talking, asking questions that ranged from the silly to the deadly serious. Pitch didn’t bite. Only once did Jack manage to make him react with something else than indifference or sarcasm.

“Who were you, before?” he asked, thinking the question innocent enough.

But he felt Pitch tense, and glanced up to see a cloudy look come through his eyes. 

“I don’t remember.”

Jack frowned. That felt painfully familiar. “Come on. Surely you must have a few memories. Were you human?”

Pitch’s golden eyes flashed dangerously. “I said I didn’t remember, and I don’t _want_ to remember. End of discussion.” And with that, he pushed Jack away, got up and walked off.

And then came the nights, and they were the worst. Jack discovered that Nessie, in fact, never slept at night; she was most active at dusk and during the early hours of the morning, and did most of her sleep during the daytime. So Jack and Pitch had her chamber to themselves each night, and with nothing else to do but sleep, and no appetite for sleeping next to each other – at least as far as Pitch was concerned – they were slowly getting on each other’s nerves. Jack felt tired despite the fact that he had never slept more since the time of his death. Pitch looked like he was going to explode at any moment, and if his burn was looking better and better, the gleam in his eyes did not.

Each day after the first day, Jack tried to convince Pitch to leave. They couldn’t stay there, doing nothing, losing precious time. Pitch always shot him down. Jack was sure he hadn’t really slept since the first night, and he wondered how much of that was the nightmare, and how much was him.

And finally, one day, he had enough.

“I’m leaving.”

Pitch and Nessie both looked up. Pitch, as always when Nessie had nothing better to do, was petting her like a long-lost cat he never wanted to part with again. She couldn’t purr, but she gave it her best try, and often gave the impression she was much smaller than she looked. Jack stepped up to her – she loved him just as much as Pitch by now – and gave her a long hard stroke along her back, the way he knew she liked it.

“Would you mind getting me to the surface?” he asked.

“And where would you go?” said Pitch.

Jack didn’t look at him. “I don’t know. Anywhere. I’ll probably move around a lot, just in case. Try to avoid unwanted attention.”

Pitch scoffed. “ _You_?”

But Jack didn’t rise to the bait. “Yeah. That way I could at least find something useful to do. Yes, I’ll miss you too, Nessie. Er, would you mind giving Pitch and me some space?”

For somebody who lived completely alone, Nessie had a spectacular concept of private space. She hopped off immediately, leaving Pitch to drill holes in Jack’s back with his eyes.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“You do? Well, good for you, because you’re not going to stop me this time. I’m going, whether you’re coming or not. In fact –” Jack turned around, his face lit up as if by a great idea. “It might actually be a good idea for you to stay here while I go outside. That way I can check the news, try to get in contact with the others, while you stay safe down here. It would be better for everyone.”

Pitch was still eyeing him suspiciously. Jack went on:

“Of course, it’s only a matter of time until the demon figures out that the portal we took lead to Loch Ness. Then maybe a few days at most until it finds a way to get down here without getting wet – you know, a submarine or something. And then what will you do?”

He looked Pitch straight in the eye, and held his stare.

Pitch broke first. He looked away, and Jack felt his heart fill with warmth when he noticed that, instead of looking towards the menacing darkness of the water, or the comforting brightness of the slugs, Pitch was looking towards the far corner where Nessie was busy painting a wall algae-green (a little trick Jack taught her). His expression shifted, he bit his lips, swallowed.

Then he looked back at Jack, and Jack gave him a genuine, slightly sad smile.

He knew he’d won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of ran away from me.  
> A word of warning: It's possible I will not be able to sustain the one-chapter-a-week rhythm I have going on. You'll still get at least one chapter every two weeks, though.


	7. Getting closer

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Pretty words, Frost.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not as if I’d done it on purpose!”

It _had_ been an accident.

After leaving Nessie, they had taken to the sky. Well, Jack had taken to the sky, summoning the northern winds and then swooping down to seize Pitch by the collar and whisk him upward like an eagle would a defenseless rabbit. Said rabbit didn’t manifest any kind of gratitude for the lift, but considering he couldn’t shadow travel and didn’t show any inclination for walking, he just shut up and endured the ride.

And for the most part it went all right. For a few minutes Nessie’s mournful – or perhaps hopeful, it was difficult to tell – chant followed them through the clouds, probably confusing the hell out of any creature who could hear it; then, it was only the sound of empty sky.

And, oh, how gloriously empty and wide and liberating it was! The days of claustrophobia and sterile waiting were erased as if by magic; a huge weight Jack had only confusedly registered was lifted from his chest. Finally he could breathe! Finally he could stretch and shout his joy and his love for the open world! And he did. At that moment he didn’t care about the demon, about the danger they still were in, not even about what had become of the Guardians – at that moment he felt it, as strong and lively as the cold wind on his skin: everything was going to be all right.

So he laughed, and crowed, and even sang, his mad enthusiasm inversely proportional to Pitch’s increasingly annoyed air. And when Pitch started to fight against him, trying to shut him up, he got a bit carried away, and started to drop him.

It was only a game. After a few seconds he would swoop down and grab him again, somehow overjoyed at the furious fire in Pitch’s eyes, and would drop him _again_ a few minutes later. He wasn’t sure why it made him feel so good; why snatching the tall lean body out of thin air felt so much like a comfortable thrill. Maybe it was that Pitch didn’t seem to mind all that much; that he seemed to protest on principle, and enjoy himself through the shared thoughtlessness of this night.

Then Jack let him go... and didn’t catch him in time.

He had been distracted. Not that it was much of an excuse, he knew it, but how could he not stop and stare at it, that all too brief flash of warm golden light, so serene and beautiful in the dark of the night? It had been too far away to make out properly, its outlines fuzzy and its glow uncertain. Had it even really been there? Had Jack been imagining things?

Could dreams survive without the Sandman?

So he had let Pitch go, his attention caught elsewhere, and only when he had turned around, saying, “Did you see that?”, had he realized what had happened.

Now, in and of itself, Pitch falling down to the ground wasn’t such a problem. They had been flying low, having come to the edge of a reasonably-sized town, and weren’t going fast at all at that point. Pitch didn’t hurt himself upon landing; in fact he was instantly up on his feet and glaring at his surroundings. His surroundings, unfortunately, were mostly children. 

No, actually – _only_ children.

What a group of kids that young – maybe seven, eight years of age – were doing outside in the streets in the middle of the night, Jack couldn’t decipher. What they were playing at was also anybody’s guess. But as Pitch straightened up and loomed over them and instinctively tried to transform his ungraceful arrival into an occasion for terror, the kids…

Well, they just ignored him. And walked straight through him. And were generally noisily, laughingly unafraid.

Jack had smiled when he first noticed what was happening. He couldn’t help it: the sight of all those happy children, with their bright eyes and their endless enthusiasm, warmed his heart. It always did. And the sight of Pitch, standing over them with a threatening expression on his face, was even more fun, the contrast glorious. However, after those first few seconds of mirth, came thoughts and feelings that were infinitely less welcome. The sight of all those happy, carefree children… in the middle of a fairly sinister and otherwise utterly deserted street. Pitch’s burning eyes shifting from agression to dismay. Something was terribly wrong there, and for the first time in a few hours, Jack remembered why they were outside together, and why they were alone.

He floated down to Pitch, and apologized, explaining what he’d seen, or thought he’d seen. Pitch was in no mood for what he called “flights of fancy”.

They stood there, on the badly-lit sidewalk, watching the children play a little farther away.

After a little while, Jack spoke up again: “So… if the children can’t see you, or hear you… how do we make them afraid of you?”

Pitch snorted. “If I had the answer to this question, do you think I would have had needed to make nightmares out of dreamsand?”

Jack frowned, and thought fiercely. Then, taking a deep steadying breath, he strode towards the group of kids.

“Frost? Where are you going?”

“I have an idea; just wait.”

Pitch didn’t seem inclined to wait. He followed Jack closely, brow furrowed in puzzlement… then consternation, as Jack planted himself in front of the children, his face set in a mesmerizingly phony glower.

“Hey, you!” he bellowed.

The kids stopped. Turning, they stared dumfounded at the white-haired stranger.

Jack glared at them with all his might. Behind him, unseen from all, Pitch started a slow and incredulous facepalm.

“What are you doing playing there in the middle of the night?” roared Jack. “It’s dangerous! Don’t you know what could happen to you?”

One of the kids, a big girl with black hair and a mouth made of more gaps than teeth, tilted her head in curiosity. “No, what?”

“Terrible things! These streets are very bad, very, very bad for children! You could get hurt! Or kidnapped! Or killed! Or even…”

He had his audience. The kids came closer with every word, gaping. “Or even what?” asked little boy whose huge dark eyes seemed to devour half his face.

Jack let the suspense stretch for a few seconds. Then he opened his arms wide. “You might be taken… by the Bogeyman!”

There was a silence.

“And then what?” asked the dark-haired girl.

“Err…” 

Jack hadn’t thought any further than that. He glanced at Pitch for help. Pitch raised his eyebrows. Jack made a questioning gesture. Pitch deigned to answer: “I don’t do anything to them. Because _I don’t kidnap children_. I don’t _like_ children, remember?”

“There must be _something_ you do! Aren’t those cages useful for something? Or did you build them just for the fairies?”

“Uh, sir? Who are you talking to?”

Jack glanced down at a tiny freckled girl. He smiled reassuringly. “I’m talking to a friend. You can’t see him. Not yet.”

“Really? Why?” 

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Frost.”

Jack stuck out his tongue at Pitch. “Because he’s been very, very bad.” Inspiration struck him. “Wanna know what he’s done?”

“Yeah?” came the half-hesitant, half-eager answer.

“Well, he kidnapped very good friends of mine – you might know of them, the tooth fairies?”

“They’re _real_?” asked the huge-eyed boy.

“Of course they’re real! As real as you and me! And I can tell you, they hated what he did to them! He put them in big, rusty cages in his terrifying hidden lair, deep below the surface of the Earth, where no-one dares to tread and from where nobody ever, _ever_ comes back…”

“Did you go there?”

Jack, who thought he had a good rythmn going, didn’t let the interruption phase him. He only vaguely registered Pitch, whose face had started to express some reluctant hope and fiercely repressed fascination, making a warning gesture. He just went on, confidently: “Yes, I did.”

“But if you went there, and you’re here now, then you came back?”

“Yes, yes, but I’m Jack Frost, you see,” said Jack quickly, realizing his mistake. “I’m exceptional.”

“Exceptionally good at bragging, and Olympic champion of distorting the truth,” grumbled Pitch. “Don’t let them derail you any more!”

Too late. “And the tooth fairies? Did they get out?” asked Tiny Freckled Girl.

“Yes, of course!” said Dark-Haired Girl authoritatively. “Who do you think gave me money in exchange for my tooth yesterday, Santa Claus?”

“Unless,” added another boy, eyes shining with excitement, “unless they’re new tooth fairies, because the old ones got killed by the Bogeyman!”

The other kids covered their mouths in delighted horror. 

“Or maybe the new tooth fairies are ghosts of the old ones!”

“And if you haven’t been nice, they leave dead mice under your pillow instead of cash!”

“Is… is that true?”

Jack looked down at Tiny Freckled Girl’s whitening face. She was obviously the youngest – probably Dark-Haired Girl’s little sister, considering the way she was hovering next to her – and while the other kids seemed more excited than scared, her eyes were wide with genuine fright. Which precipitated his second mistake.

Ignoring Pitch – who at this point had started giving suggestions about new horrible and totally fictional spins he could make to the original story –, Jack crouched down to the girl’s level and gave her a reassuring smile. “No, don’t worry, it’s not true. I should know, I was there. Me and my friends, we defeated the Bogeyman and freed the tooth fairies, who are perfectly alive and well, I swear.” He felt a sudden, painful pang – some might be alive, but well? He and Pitch hadn’t seen a single one all night.

Huge-Eyed Boy wrinkled his nose. “So, if they’re not dead, and if the Bogeyman has been defeated, then why should we be afraid of him?”

“Yeah, _obviously_ he’s not that scary!” added another boy in a slightly disgusted tone. “I mean, who can’t kill a little fairy?”

A flash of frost spurted from Jack’s staff, thankfully scattering through the street without hurting anyone. He leaped up, towering over the kid and shouting: “A MONSTER CAN! DON’T YOU DARE THINK THAT’S A JOKE!”

Silence fell like lead. The children stopped their chatter, looking at Jack – at his staff and at his frost – in sudden awe and… fear. Jack couldn’t see Pitch, but he could feel his stare digging a hole at the back of his head. It was one of two holes – the other being the dark, ravening depression at the center of his chest. He felt as if he had just woken from a drugged-up daze. For the first time in hours, possibly days, he was seeing the world clearly.

No tooth fairies. Possibly no Guardians. No fear. 

Back in the open skies, they hadn’t been flying. They’d been fleeing. _He’d_ been fleeing.

The sun would be coming up soon.

Something poked him on the shoulder. He blinked. Looked down at his small petrified audience. Tried to smile. “I’m sorry –”

But as he stepped forward, they stepped back. Dark-Haired Girl took the smaller girl by the arm, protectively. “You’re weird, Jack Frost. If that’s _really_ your name,” she added accusingly.

“And he’s speaking to noone…” whispered another child. “My mom always says that’s a bad sign…”

“I’m not… I’m not speaking to noone, I’m just –” Jack faltered. Something poked him again. He turned around and growled: “WHAT?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the kids were retreating, step by step – as if he was some kind of dangerous predator. He felt it again, the pang, a keen sense of loss and fear, and turned back again to try and stop them, “Wait, I didn’t mean to –”

His words dried in his throat as they almost stumbled over one another’s feet in their urge to get away from him. They didn’t get too far, stopping to look back at him with the kind of curiosity you only grant to disasters. 

For the third time Pitch tried to get through to him, this time grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to look at him. “Let it go. You screwed it up, it’s too late now.” His usually honeyed voice had a bitter tang to it. “We need to go. It’s almost morning.”

“But maybe we could – I – maybe if we told them the real story, with the demon and all that, they’ll believe and –”

“And then what? Didn’t you listen to _anything_ we talked about? They might believe in the demon with all their might, if they can’t fear it, and more importantly if adults can’t fear it, then it’s as if it was no more than a silly story for children!”

Jack frowned in confusion. “But isn’t that what we are, at heart?”

“And look at how well we fared! Come on, let’s go!”

Jack glanced back at the confused group of kids. How must he look to them, talking to empty air, looking, he was sure, as lost and desperate as he felt? Did they pity him? Distrust him? Could they even be a little bit scared? That was real fear he’d seen in the smallest girl’s eyes. 

“What if I tried to scare them?” he said, and the moment he said it he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

Scaring children? Real scaring, not “boo-got-you” jumpscaring that can dissolve into laughs? He would be terrible at it. The moment a child’s eyes filled with tears, or screams came out, he would shatter into a million pieces. He was fun – and his understanding of fun certainly didn’t include sadism. 

(At least, not without full comprehensive consent.)

Pitch snorted. “Even when we were fighting I thought Sandman was scarier than you.” His eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t let you anyway. It’s my purpose, and mine alone.”

“You’re right.” Jack sighed. He suddenly felt terribly tired. 

He gave one last glance at the kids, who had scuttled slightly closer, eyeing him in fascination. “Gimme just one minute.”

Carefully, arms raised in the – he hoped – universal “I’m sweet and harmless” posture, he took at few steps towards the group. They stirred a bit, but didn’t flee. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to scare you. Well, not like that. I mean –” He took a deep breath and went on laboriously: “I have a few coins here. They’re the same kind the tooth fairies give you for you teeth, so I guess you can use them. I don’t know, buy candy or something. It’s always good when you’re scared. Uh…” He bent down and put the coins on the ground. “I’ll leave them here. Just… whether you take them or not, I’d like you to know… there’s a real monster out there. You might not see it, you might not even meet it, but it’s there. It’s a demon of light. It’s evil, and it’s dangerous. Don’t get near it.” He hesitated. “We’ll try to stop it, but just in case… be careful. Please.”

He turned around and strode back to Pitch who gave him a quizzical stare. 

“It might not help, but it can’t hurt.”

They left, and this time, Jack chose to walk.

* * *

 

They spent the day in an abandoned building. It was drab, and boring – so they slept, as much as they could. Jack dozed off first, not because of his exhaustion – real as it was – but because he knew Pitch would not let himself rest otherwise. He woke up to the familiar sounds of Pitch’s nightmare, but didn’t dare intervene. When awake, Pitch was cold and aloof – even more than before. The only contact he tolerated was when Jack used his frost on his still healing shoulder – or when Pitch himself touched him, “accidentally”. Jack had given up the quest for more intimacy – for now. But he kept watching.

They talked, briefly, about telling scary stories to children. Jack was ready to invent anything – he’d rather liked being a storyteller – but Pitch was skeptical. It seemed like the best bet, though. Jack suspected Pitch’s reluctance had as much to do with his own regret at not being able to do anything as it had with Jack’s rather poor record at sustaining a scare.

They left at dusk. They flew, but only for a short while before getting down to another part of the town. It was even worse than the previous one, but Pitch had noticed something and called for Jack to land.

There was a child there.

“There” was not so much a place as a dump; a hideous, suppuring welt of a street crushed between derelict houses. As the shadows grew, its ugliness seemed to swell, and every single one of the decrepit walls took on the deathly gloom of a corpse. Pipes protruded everywhere, trash covered what was left of the sidewalks, and if there was any electricity left… Jack shuddered. This street made Pitch Black’s lair look safe. Not to mention welcoming.

The kid had to be about eight or nine. He was frail but healthy-looking; his clothes were not the expensive kind, but were not used or mended either. He presumably had a family that cared for him. He didn’t seem on the run; just strolling through the street as if it was a perfectly normal place to be. He was looking around, taking photos with his phone, a serious expression on his face.

“What is he doing?” muttered Jack, and took a step toward him.

Pitch held him back. “Don’t show yourself! I have an idea.”

“What? You mean… scare him?”

“No, help him redecorate the street – of course scare him!”

“How?”

“Look at what he’s doing. How he’s doing it. Focused, inspired. He’s got the mind of an artist. And if there’s one thing artists have, it’s imagination.” Pitch’s eyes were darting in all directions, as if mentally mapping the street and its unhealthy components. The night had completely settled now and Jack had to squint in the dark, but he knew that, of all the powers that were taken from Pitch after his downfall, the ability to see in absolute darkness remained. So… what was Pitch seeing?

He was about to ask when Pitch grabbed his arm and pointed. “Go in there. Wait for my signal, then moan. Try for “little old man dying in the rain”, if you can. Then wait ten seconds, and scream as loud as you can. If you don’t break your voice I’ll kill you.”

And with that, Pitch vanished in the darkness. He was so quick Jack thought for one mad, hopeful second that his powers had returned, but then he saw the tall shape prowling noiselessly down the street, keeping clear of the rare patches of lighter dark. Jack felt a sudden stab of fear – what if Pitch tried to run away, alone? It was the first time he had such an opportunity. Escape was all he’d been thinking about.

Jack watched him anxiously, until Pitch glanced back and, seeing him still locked in place, imperiously gestured to him. Jack shook himself. He had to trust Pitch. Just this once.

He tiptoed to the place Pitch had indicated, an empty wreck barely deserving the name of house – or of wreck, actually. The smell was horrendous, as if a hundred animals had died there. Jack had to step carefully in fear of squishing something he might regret.

From his new vantage point, he could not see the kid anymore. Pitch had vanished. He stood alone, in the deepening dark, his nostrils filled with the stench of decay. A few seconds passed. What was Pitch up to?

A creak. A thud. Another strange sound, something like a weighted bag – or perhaps a body – hitting a slab of stone. An instant of silence. Then: “Hello?”

It was the kid, speaking up. He received no answer save from another ominous creak. It sounded as if a very heavy person was trying to tiptoe across an old wooden floor – and if Pitch was indeed the one producing those sounds, Jack had to wonder how he did it. 

“Hello? Anybody there?” 

The kid sounded more curious than afraid. Jack could imagine him, spinning around, peering through the dark, probably holding his phone up in the hopes of snapping a good picture. He also imagined a big sinister shape stalking him and, in spite of himself, grew nervous. Pitch would not hurt the kid… but what if those noises outside were not Pitch?

He resisted the urge to go out and see for himself. If there was some sort of predator out there, surely the kid would have time to scream, wouldn’t he? 

A few seconds passed. Light footsteps told Jack the boy was coming closer to the house. He retreated slightly deeper into what was left of the hallway, and crouched down as much as he dared. The footsteps stopped in front of the porch. Only now did Jack wonder what sort of signal Pitch was going to send him.

His eyes were getting used to the dark. Each passing moment kept revealing more unsanitary details about the ruins. The kid absolutely should not be coming near any of it. Where were his parents? Weren’t they worried for him? 

How was it even possible for fear to drop so low even mothers and fathers didn’t fear for their children?

The boy appeared in the hallway. Jack shuffled out of sight, but the kid heard him. “Hello?” He stepped forward. Jack had his back on the wall – what was left of it. The boy stared right at the place where, he hoped, he blended in the shadows.

The boy’s eyes widened.

He took a step back.

Jack wasn’t sure what to do, but at that moment Pitch himself appeared in the ex-doorway and motioned with his hands. Therefore Jack contorted his face in mock pain and moaned in the most realistic way he could. Pitch’s face – what he could see of it anyway – indicated that as far as acting went, it wasn’t Oscar-worthy, but thankfully the kid didn’t seem to think so. He stumbled backward, growing pale as a ghost.

Which was, Jack realized suddenly, exactly what he must look like at the moment, his shock of white hair and snow-like complexion the only things there that weren’t dark.

Standing up, he unfolded his considerable height, and staggered in the kid’s direction, arms held in front of him like a zombie. He waited ten seconds, looking at the boy looking at him with uncomprehending eyes. Then he screamed, and screamed again, as loud as he could, and as he saw the kid almost loose his grip on his phone in his fear – his _fear!_ – he leaped forward. 

The boy let out a strangled scream, and ran out of the house – right through Pitch; and the instant he went through him, the kid shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself as if he had just felt a terrible chill. Gripping his phone as if his life depended on him, he looked back once. His mouth opened in silent horror, and he ran. He ran towards the distant lights of much healthier streets, and if he ever stopped running, Jack had no idea when.

Unsure what to feel about the whole experience, he turned to Pitch. He was surprised to see a slight smile on the other’s face.

“He saw me.”

“Really?” said Jack in excitement.

“He must have felt something when he went through me. When he turned, he saw you and I’m certain he saw me as well for an instant.”

“Was it enough? Can you use shadows now?”

Pitch shook his head no, but his smile didn’t waver. It was strange to see him smile like that – Jack had almost forgotten that when he wasn’t brooding and depressed, Pitch was one of the most expressive people he had ever met.

“It will take more than that, but we just proved it’s a viable method.”

The unexpected ‘we’ made Jack ridiculously happy.

* * *

 

They spent several days – or more exactly nights – perfecting the ‘method’. It was frighteningly easy to find kids playing in places they should absolutely not have been in. Even easier, when they got the pattern right, to play with said surroundings to create an atmosphere of dread and ill-intent even the most care-free of children fell victim to.

They gradually discovered what worked and what didn’t. Groups of kids could be an amazing hit or a soul-crushing flop depending on their personality and their age; Jack and Pitch had to watch them for a while to decipher if they would be the kind to feed of one another’s fear, or the kind to laugh at it in order to look invincible. Abandoned buildings were almost always a success; ‘haunted house’ was a narrative that seemed to transcend the dulling of fear. Dark alleys were even better. But from Pitch’s seemingly infinite knowledge, Jack learnt even the warmest, fluffiest bedroom could become a realm of nightmares if a child was in the right state of mind. Pitch played with closet doors, windows, toys. When he put his mind to it, the cuddliest teddy bear became a monster waiting for his prey. He played on the deepest human fears, the ones that had been there since the dawn of their species: fear of the dark, fear of loneliness, fear of the unknown. And he _relished_ it.

As for Jack, he felt torn.

Confusion was so very familiar nowadays. On one hand, he had to admit it: scaring kids could be fun. It sharpened imagination and he became pretty good at knowing when to send a gust of wind whining through a quiet room, and when to summon a wave of completely unexpected – and unnatural – cold. And there was Pitch. Jack couldn’t remember ever having seen him like this. It wasn’t as if Pitch seemed happy – that would have been a massive, massive overstatement – but he seemed calmer, more relaxed. He spoke more often, and with more sincerity. His first means of expression was still snark, but there was a softer edge to it, like when he congratulated Jack on looking ghastly one night when they had managed to make a entire group of twelve-years-old boys flee from a parking lot with their ghostly routine. With each new successful scare, Pitch felt better, and it showed. He was starting to control shadows again, although on a small scale, and still without travel. His shoulder and neck were completely healed, although Jack noticed Pitch never looked into mirrors and still asked him to rub him with frost once in a while; Jack never told him there was no need anymore.

On the other hand, all that time spent in darkness was starting to weigh on Jack. Scaring children the way they did at first was fine, considering it took them away from dangerous places, but the moment they stepped into their homes it became considerably less fun. Jack couldn’t help thinking he was betraying them, and betraying Jamie as well, each time a child woke up gasping or jumped at a threatening shadow in the mirror. At times, he felt almost ill. What was he doing?

Plus, as good as it was, the process was very, very slow. Once the elation of the first few days had gone, they settled into a routine filled with more and more frustration. Yes, Pitch was growing stronger – but nowhere fast enough. Yes, the demon still hadn’t found them – but for how long? 

Adding to their growing anxiety was the complete absence of anything from the Guardians. Each night, Jack watched the skies for a hint of golden sand – in vain. They had not dared going back to the North Pole, and Bunnymund’s tunnels were out of reach. They knew the little tooth fairies were on duty, but never saw any.

Until one evening.

* * *

 

 

It was past midnight in Middle-of-Nowhere, Alaska. They had managed to terrorize a trio of kids – five-year-old triplets currently ruining their parents’ sleep for good – and were looking for a new place to strike, when Jack saw it: a shimmer of tiny wings. He jumped so high and so suddenly the poor little fairy almost had a heart attack.

“Sorry!... Sorry!” said Jack, beaming and feeling like a strange need to cry. It wasn’t “his” Baby Tooth, but he knew this one anyway, and she came to him without reluctance once she recognized him. “I’m just, so happy to see one of you! I’ve been looking for you girls everywhere! Wow, that’s a pretty tooth!” The fairy proudly showed him her prize, then chirped intently at him. “I’m all right, but I don’t know about the others. How is Toothiana? Is she all right?”

The fairy deflated, and did a complicated gesture that combined a negative shake of the head, a shrug, and an inquisitive stare. Jack frowned, then understood.

“You haven’t seen her? At all?”

The fairy shook her head sadly.

“So who is in charge? Baby Tooth?”

The fairy nodded vigorously. Apparently Baby Tooth was doing her job well.

“And she doesn’t know what happened to Toothiana?”

As much as he didn’t mind the cold, Jack felt it grab at his heart. Toothiana gone… “What about the others? North, Bunny, Sandy? Do you know anything?”

She didn’t. Eyes full of worry and determination, she indicated time was fleeing and she needed to go on collecting teeth. She and her sisters would perform their task as long as they could. That fact reassured Jack a little: as long as Toothiana’s little army of helpers was all right, she should be too… he hoped.

* * *

 

Two nights later, they were walking through a French town. It was an old medieval place, full of wonderful tools for terror: dungeons, old imposing towers, tiny dark alleys and traitorous pavement. They were seeking new ways to make them work, when Jack spied something.

He grabbed Pitch’s sleeve.

“Hey, look over there.”

“So what? It’s just a cat.”

“Who is staring at us very insistently.”

 

“It’s a _cat_ ,” Pitch repeated slowly. “That’s what they do.”

“Do they also usually approach strangers as if they know them?”

Pitch turned. The cat was padding nonchalantly towards them, tail straight up in the air. He stopped to rub against Jack’s legs. Jack bent down to scratch it behind the ears, enjoying the purring. He looked up to see Pitch frown.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t like cats, I won’t believe you.”

“Doesn’t it seem… familiar to you?”

“Uh?”

Jack looked down. The cat had stepped away from him and, after briefly sniffing the hem of Pitch’s coat as if to ascertain his identity, had turned tail and walked away. After a few feet, it stopped. Looked back at them.

“It looks as if it wants us to follow,” said Jack.

“I’m sure I’ve seen this cat before…” muttered Pitch.

“Yeah, me too… I wonder where…”

The tabby was still staring back at them. The yellow glow of the streetlights shined on its fur and reflected in its unfathomable eyes.

Jack fidgeted with his staff. “Maybe we should follow it. See what it wants.”

He stepped forward. Pitch held him back.

“Wait! It’s the cat from the tanning salon!”

Jack blinked. Now that Pitch said it, his memory unfolded: the same fur pattern, spread on a chair in the demon’s impeccable waiting room. Eyes staring at them, uncaring. 

“So, what, you think it’s the demon’s pet or something?”

“Unlikely. Demons of light hate cats; they’re creatures of transience, not their type at all. Still, I wouln’t trust this one.”

“Putting aside the fact that I have no idea what ‘transience’ means, maybe it just wants to help?”

Pitch hesitated. The cat still stared. Jack had to admire such patience, even if it was seriously starting to give him the creeps.

“It means change, uncertainty. Cats live in the spaces between light and darkness, day and night. They belong to both and neither.”

Jack gawked at him, impressed. “Since when do you know so much about cats?”

“Because I’m a creature of darkness and I don’t like them either,” grumbled Pitch. “Cats are not reliable. They live only for themselves. They have no master.”

Suddenly light dawned. Jack straightened up and beamed. “Now I know why we have to follow that cat.” And he strode forward, ignoring Pitch’s protests. 

Seeing him move, the cat immediately turned back and started walking down the street. Jack followed it. He knew what was going to happen, and this feeling of certainty, so precious after so many days of confusion, kept him smiling all the way and even mock Pitch for his ignorance, he who knew so much about cats. Pitch didn’t look happy, but he came along. Without shadow-travel, he didn’t have much choice anyway.

They turned into an alley, then another, then a dirt road – then, a forest. One moment they were in the town, the other their feet were treading soft moss and wet earth. The moon was out and shone through the leaves, painting the world silver.

They came to a tree. No, three trees, each as big as its neighbour, identical in size and majesty. On their sprawling branches was a treehouse. Not an ordinary one, though, certainly not one children could have built in summer with their parents. This one oozed comfort, and money. It was the kind of treehouse the owners had architects pay other architects to build for them. It seemed to own the forest around it. The treehouse of a king.

Or a queen.

She was standing on the balcony, looking down at them. The moon shone directly on her dark skin, on her ears. Cat ears.

Golden eyes glinted mischievously.

“Gentlemen, I bid you welcome,” said Bast.

* * *

 

Jack didn’t have time to say anything.

As soon as he was up the stairs, Bast glided up to him and gave him a kiss – a true feline kiss: slow, sensual, exquisitely deliberate and borderline worrying. His lips tingled when she let go. (Her teeth were sharp, even in mostly-human form.) She stroke his cheek with her hand, and it felt like home.

“It has been a while, Jack Frost,” she purred.

“Only thanks to you,” he shot back. “I would have been happy to say hello if you had, you know, reappeared at some point.”

“I know, my dear. In my defense, I _had_ warned you.”

She directed her smile at a point behind his back. He coughed. “Er, I don’t know if you two have met?”

She laughed. “Oh, we have. Although I’m not sure it justifies such wrath. Did I do something wrong?”

Jack glanced back at Pitch. He was glaring at Bast with a burning hostility Jack had never seen him express before. “Pitch? You all right?”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was _her_?” spat Pitch.

“Hey, hey,” said Jack, taken aback. “I just wanted to surprise you, no need to get all huffy about it.” He turned to Bast. “Sorry, I couldn’t un-grouch him. How come you know each other? I mean, other than the fact that you’re both very old and very powerful. Well, used to be. I mean, not that I’m implying you _look_ old and weak, either of you, but – I would like you to answer me now, because I think I need to shut up.”

Bast chuckled. “Don’t fret, I know what you mean. But the story will wait; please, come inside. You’ll be my guests tonight.”

“In exchange for what?” hissed Pitch angrily.

“Hey!” cried Jack. “Don’t be rude!”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Pitch!”

“That’s all right,” said Bast. “Although I can’t help but find your fear of me amusing.”

“I’m not afraid of you!”

“Yet I’m more powerful than you are right now, am I wrong?”

Pitch glowered. “Is that a threat?”

Bast stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Not at all. So please, come in. I swear I did not invite you here to stand between you and what you want. In fact, I’d like to help you both.”

Jack perked up. “Against the demon?”

Bast only inclined her head towards the open door.

* * *

 

As a hostess, Bast was as generous as she was graceful – even if her words and gestures sometimes seemed more ironic than sincere. It was as if she didn’t take the world very seriously, an attitude that had made Jack consider her a soulmate for a short but satisfying time. The same attitude, however, also made their relationship – whatever it was – a bit painful for him. He didn’t like to think too much about it.

“So, is it your place?” he asked, admiring the exquisite furniture, some of it already covered in cat hairs. 

“Of course not,” she chuckled. “I just borrowed it from its human owners while they’re on vacation. My days of having a proper home are behind me.”

“Far behind,” sneered Pitch.

One of the cats that dwelled in the treehouse hissed at him. Pitch hissed right back. Jack laughed. “I don’t have a home either. Well, apart from Burgess. Burgess is great.”

“I remember,” said Bast. “You always spoke of it fondly, even when you were with me, which I don’t mind telling you I used to find a bit annoying.”

“So you were lovers?” 

The question seemed to have been ripped out of Pitch. Even he looks surprised at his own boldness.

Jack blushed slightly, but Bast just smiled. “Indeed.”

“Once or twice,” added Jack. “Three times. Or was it five?”

“You _wanted_ five. I wanted space.”

“Space? More like a century!” said Jack, waving his arms. “It’s not as if I was clingy!”

Bast sighed. “Jack, I am thousands of years old. A century is a blip for me. And I am a cat. My affection is… capricious. I told you many times.”

“So why reappear now? Why give us food and shelter? Why help us? You’ve always said you wanted to stay away from the affairs of the world, even from the Guardians, that your time had come and gone. Yet, stop me if I’m wrong, but your little guide here,” Jack gestured towards the tabby currently sprawled on the table right next to his glass, “he’s a spy, isn’t he?”

Bast nodded. “He noticed something was wrong. I set him to keep an eye on what was happening.”

“He left when we came to the demon’s place. Your instructions?”

Bast shrugged. “A cat doesn’t follow instructions. He simply decided it was best for him to go report to me.”

“You mean, avoid the fight he knew could come at any moment,” sneered Pitch.

“That too.” Golden eyes gleamed. “If he didn’t have good sense, he wouldn’t be a very good spy.” Her expression darkened. “This particular demon is more dangerous than its brethren. My other children tell me it found your trace soon after you left Loch Ness.”

Pitch started. “Nessie?”

“She’s all right. She too has sense; she avoided it as long as it was in the lake. But the simple fact it managed to find and reach her cave through all that water and obscurity should give you an idea of how dire the situation is.”

“It’s more powerful than before,” whispered Jack in dismay.

“Very much so.”

“What about the Guardians? We searched for them, but –” As Bast shook her head, Jack sagged in his chair. “But they can’t be dead, they can’t be…”

“I don’t think they are. The Guardians may be… flashy… but they’re not stupid. If they’ve been injured – and I’m pretty sure it’s the case – they will hide until they’re healed and ready.”

“But they haven’t even tried to reach us, to give us a message! Why?”

“The demon might be able to find your trace through them. You,” Bast nodded to Pitch, “are the only one who can defeat it. They know that.”

 _“Protect Pitch!”_ Jack never thought the Guardians would sacrifice so much for their old enemy. He imagined them, perhaps together, perhaps alone, badly hurt, consumed by fear. And what if not all of them had made it? He hadn’t had any good dreams since the North Pole – and by the looks of it, children hadn’t either.

A soft hand with sharp claws on his wrist. He looked down. Only now did he realize he had been breathing hard, lost in a Guardians-less world.

“Why would you help us?” he asked, too tired to feel his own anger. “You’re the queen of detachment.”

She stood. For an instant, her form wavered – her pleasant face morphed into a feral one: a cat, or a lioness. The room seemed to shrink around her, her presence swelling, filling it to the brim. Her inhuman eyes shone with two different colors, burning gold and glowing silver. Jack gaped like a fish; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pitch pale and tense, as if he was resisting the urge to flee. 

The goddess of old looked through them, at something Jack couldn’t see.

“I too was a Guardian once. I served both Sun and Moon. I protected children. When humans – _my_ humans – were in danger, I was the one who drank blood until I dropped. Now my children are everywhere, so that even though the only thing that sustains me is the love humans still have for them, through them, I feel humanity. And what I see through the eyes of my people calls for the ghost of what I once was.”

She blinked, and just like that, was again the cheerful, agreeable hostess in the house.

She smiled at Jack and Pitch, who sat there petrified.

“The Man in the Moon wants the demon gone. So do I.”

* * *

 

 

She gave them the guest rooms. Jack wanted to sleep like a log, but instead, he tossed and turned until he gave up. He threw back the cover he really had no need for anyway – accidentally throwing the cat that had been sleeping there as well – and strode out of the room, down the stairs, into the forest.

When he felt he was far enough, he floated up to a high branch, and sat there, staring at the moon. The silent, silent moon.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me? I know you and Bast go way back, but you made me a Guardian.” He snorted, a short humorless laugh. “You made me a Guardian to fight _Pitch_. To protect children from him. And now I’m forced to work with him, to help him scare children, and not even in a nice way, oh no, we’re really going all out there. And why are we doing that? To fight a creature made of light!”

He sighed. “I used to think we were the light against Pitch’s darkness. Now I don’t know anymore. If I ever knew anything.”

His voice weakened to a whisper. “How am I supposed to defend children if I don’t know what I am doing?”

“You said it: you’re a Guardian.”

He jumped so violently he would have fallen down if a surprisingly strong arm hadn’t caught and stabilized him. He turned to meet two golden eyes – feline eyes.

“Oh, it’s you. You scared me.”

“I noticed.”

She sat down next to him. 

They stayed silent for several minutes, looking up at the moon – Bast with the patience of the oldest cat in the world, Jack with the uncertainty of his transformed youth.

Finally, he said: “You never told me you used to be a Guardian.”

“I wasn’t a Guardian like you. Things were different back then. Also, you usually weren’t in the mood for serious talk.”

He smiled faintly. “I never am.”

“Yet you are a Guardian. What does that tell you?”

“… Is it the moment when you play wise teacher and I play eager student?”

She punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Careful. I might give you homework.”

He laughed. Bast never was very reliable, or very faithful – not at all, in fact. She never made a mystery of it. But if she was one thing, it was knowlegeable. He turned to face her. “What can you tell me?”

“Just that being a Guardian doesn’t mean you’re fighting against something. It means you’re fighting _for_ something. All you need to do, is keep in mind what that something is. Your Man in the Moon doesn’t speak to you because there is literally nothing he could tell you that you don’t already know, and nothing useful he could give you that you don’t already have.”

“A demon extinguisher would be nice,” grumbled Jack.

“Or the power to cure incurable burns.”

He felt he had spent way too much time gawking at her since they first met, but he couldn’t help it this time either. “How do you know that?”

She grinned. “I have always known. Being an ex-goddess has its advantages, and being a cat means I see a lot of things that are invisible to others. You always had that power; you just didn’t have any need for it until now. Strange, isn’t it? As efficient as your powers were against darkness, they seem – pardon the pun – pitch perfect against heat.”

And Jack started to laugh. He laughed, laughed, laughed – so much that he almost fell again, and had to stop to get his breath back, he who really didn’t need to breathe. He caught a glimpse of Bast’s puzzled expression, and burst out laughing again. 

“Jack, my pun wasn’t that funny.”

“No,” he finally managed, wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s what Pitch said, a long time ago. He said we were meant to be together, the both of us: cold and dark. And he was right! Cold and dark, against heat and light – the perfect team!”

She smiled in understanding. “He is rather attached to you.”

That sobered him up. “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t like seeing me kiss you.”

It took him a good twenty seconds to process that.

“… I thought he was just angry to see you!”

“Oh, he was as well. He’s never liked me. I am impervious to most of his powers. A cat can hardly be deceived by shadows, although they make good playthings.” Bast’s eyes flashed; something of the lioness came back in her face. “It’s a testament to how serious the situation is that we didn’t go at each other’s throats. His antics in the Dark Ages caused a lot of my children to be cast out, or killed.”

“What? Are you sure it was him? Pitch seems to love animals. I don’t see him make an exception for cats, even if he dislikes you.”

“Voluntary or not, it happened, and I will not forgive him for it.”

“That’s a bit petty, don’t you think? Plus he’s changed. He’s trying to get better, and I know he can be.”

“Because he can, or because right now he has no choice?”

“Can we go back earlier in our conversation please? I liked it better then. Look, I know Pitch is… difficult. Believe me, I know. But I want to give him a chance. Remember me two hundred years ago? That was only after one hundred years of solitude. I don’t want to imagine what I would be like if I hadn’t met you, or the Leprechaun, or found Bunny to tease from time to time. You all weren’t perfect, but you were better than nothing. Nothing was all Pitch had, for all I know.”

“So you want to be his something.”

Jack glanced at her. He felt almost shy, which is something that usually never happened to him in her presence. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I understand him. Each time I try to reach out to him, he clams up. I’m helping him by acting completely against my instincts, and he’s not even grateful. One moment he looks like he doesn’t want me to be more than a feet away from him, the other he’s putting an obstacle course between us. Then there was that thing at Nessie’s…”

He told her everything. It was not in his habit to be so forthcoming, but for such a self-confessed self-centered goddess, she was remarkably good at listening, even if she often gave the impression to hear only the undertone of the words.

Once the flow was over, she concluded quietly: “You’ve always been impatient, and you’re still very young. You want everything as soon as possible, without rules, responsibilities or restrictions. That’s why it couldn’t work between us. You’re pushing too hard. Pitch has the patience you lack, but he’s much more stubborn and unsure of himself. He has been burnt. He won’t want to get close to fire for a while. Leave him time to figure himself out.”

* * *

 

 

They left the following night. Bast had spent the day giving them all the information they might need: places she knew where children might be more receptive to fear, where the demon would not show up fast enough to be any danger. She wouldn’t go with them, but as they prepared to leave, she bent down and put her hands inside a patch of pure darkness between two roots.

“Lost something?” asked Jack.

“Found something,” she answered.

When she straightened up, she was holding a cat.

As far as cats went, it was enormous. Jack wondered how such a massive beast could have fit between the roots when he noticed the outlines of its fur. They were blurry, and getting neater by the second, each individual hair sharpening before his eyes.

“You made a cat out of a shadow,” he murmured appreciatively.

“One of my many talents,” purred Bast, stroking the giant black feline. “You can call her Nefer-Khemet.”

“What does it mean?”

“Beautiful darkness.”

“Fitting. Kitty, kitty.” Jack scratched the cat’s ears, enjoying the sight of big green eyes closing in rapture.

Bast put the cat on the ground. Nefer-Khemet immediately padded over to Jack. “She’ll be accompanying you.”

“What?” said Pitch. “What do you want us to do with a cat? You have enough spies as it is!”

“You’ll be surprised how much help a cat can be, especially one such as she. She won’t be in your way.”

“Oh?” snorted Pitch. “And how do you suppose she follows us when we fly off? Does she have a basket I can accidentally drop?”

“It’s not your concern. She will follow you.” 

Jack couldn’t find anything to reply to such confidence, so he just asked: “Can I call her Neferket? It’s shorter.”

Bast shrugged. “Do as you wish. Cats have their own names human tongues can’t pronounce; whatever you name her will only be meaningless syllables.”

“Then happy to have you with us, Neferket! Come on, Pitch.”

They soared up into the sky. When Jack looked down, Bast was looking up at them, but the cat had disappeared.

* * *

 

 

Google Maps were a prodigious invention.

Romrothea was very happy to have taken the time to explore all those new technologies humans were deservedly so proud of. Information was so easy to come by, even though some things Romrothea read made it wonder if humans dreamed their history rather than remember it.

The demon was currently looking at the entire world, clicking from one country to another, trying to decide what to do next. It’d seemingly searched everywhere already. Each time it came somewhere, the trace had grown cold, an irony Romrothea didn’t savor. It could feel the fear building, drop by drop, slowly yet too fast. Maybe more planning was called for. Some places had a remarkably violent history that might give a powerful boost for some demon in need. 

And there on the page, was the name: Burgess.

Romrothea remembered that name. It was the name of the man who had summoned it.

Names were important. Names were the soul of a being, its very essence. Demons knew every creature’s name, and never gave their own if they could help it; that’s why Romrothea had been very careful to erase any mention of its name it had found on the Internet. The man’s name had been Burgess; and there was a town of the same name. Any human would have shrugged at the coincidence. For a demon, there could be no coincidence.

Romrothea spread its wings and took to the skies. It, too, could be patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! This chapter just did not want to get written, I swear.  
> It seems I might not be able to stick to a tight schedule, especially as the end of the year is drawing near. However, I want to reassure those among my readers who perhaps worried about the wait: this fic WILL be finished. I know exactly what I want for each chapter; only the details are fuzzy. No abandoned fic here.  
> By the way, Nefer-Khemet only means "beautiful darkness" for people who, like me, know next to nothing about ancient egyptian language.


	8. The cold, the light

Bast had been right – Neferket was a tremendous help.

There was something about cats, especially huge, black cats with glowing green eyes. They just seemed to _summon_ fear. Things that had once necessitated long periods of careful planning and even more patient doing were now quick and easy. A loud meow echoing through the dark, a brief flash of inhuman eyes… that’d make anybody uneasy, and set the perfect mood.

Also, Neferket could shadow travel.

She would just appear out of nowhere, tail swishing contentedly like she’d been there all along, waiting. She always looked upon Jack and Pitch like they were two particularly uninteresting toys she had to deal with, but she certainly was a consummate professional. She would always follow them and do her thing in the most efficient of ways, and if, from time to time, she “borrowed” Jack’s hood to sleep in or used the hem of Pitch’s coat to sharpen her claws, well, it didn’t bother anybody. Anybody being Jack.

Pitch, on the other hand…

“Will you _stop_? My leg is not a clawing post!”

“You know,” said Jack, “I think I’ve read something about cats, once – something about them using their claws to mark their territory. Now, I don’t know if that’s scientific –”

“Are you suggesting she thinks I’m _furniture_?”

Pitch seemed offended. Jack laughed. “Actually, I’m suggesting she thinks you’re family. Or home.”

Pitch huffed, but said nothing. He blinked at Neferket, she didn’t, and after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring, he looked away and strode into a shadow.

Jack was still smiling. Pitch thought himself so convincing. Three or four times a day, he would do a great show of frowning at Neferket, and push her away, or ignore her completely. Then, from time to time, when Jack was not watching, he would scratch her behind the ears or make her play with the hem of his coat – which was the real reason it was starting to look that way. It was a true cycle of “pretend I don’t care”. Jack knew how to look for it, because Neferket was not the only one it happened to.

Pitch was… “changing” might have been too strong a word. “Mellowing”, too. Pitch was about as mellow as a demon porcupine. (Jack had recently discovered those existed. He didn’t wish to make their acquaintance.) But he was, what was that word…?

“Hey, Pitch!” said Jack. “How do you call something that used to be pure ice but now is more watery?”

Pitch’s eyes blinked from the shadows.

“Global warming?”

“No, I mean the action of, you know, unfreezing?”

“Thawing?”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Pitch was thawing. Like a great big dark iceberg. With spikes.

“Is there a word for: ‘mixing metaphors’?”

Pitch groaned. “Will you let me concentrate? This is not as easy as it used to!”

“Okay, okay… Although, if I were you, I wouldn’t try to–”

“Ow!”

“Told you.”

Pitch had been trying to reconcile himself with shadow travel lately. So far, his progress seemed to indicate shadow travel wasn’t so enthusiastic about reconciling with him. He said his senses were still off, his movements slowed down, like he was striding in a bog. When he disappeared, he never was completely certain of where – and how – he was going to reappear. His only certainty was that it would not be far.

Like now.

Jack shook his head and strode towards the sound of muffled swearing. He admired Pitch’s tenacity, really he did. But wanting to melt through shadows when there simply wasn’t much shadow to be had never seemed such a good idea to Jack. He crouched near the patch of darkness.

“You do know you’re bigger than Neferket, don’t you?”

“Mmmf.”

There was a sound Jack wouldn’t have been able to describe, a bit like “sluuurp”, but _shadowy_. He had to admit: Pitch could bend himself in interesting shapes. He managed to extract himself from the – very literal – crawlspace and straighten up with what was left of his dignity. Neferket blinked at him. Pitch huffed.

“Are you mocking me, furball?”

“I think it’s affectionate. Like a cat kiss.”

“Yes, of course, I remember Bast doing her version on you. Oh, wait, no, that’s not what she did.”

“Jealous?”

“As if! You know what cats do with their mouth!”

“Nice dodge.”

“… And what does _that_ mean, exactly?”

Jack hesitated. Pitch _was_ changing, but some things were better left alone… for now.

He had made huge efforts, these last few days, to give Pitch as much space as possible, following Bast’s advice. It was not easy – it was never easy, when he remembered the demon almost burning a hole through Pitch’s chest, and what happened in Nessie’s cave – but he did his best. And it paid off. When the feeling of being pressured for contact or discussion faded, Pitch started to close the gap himself.

Like this instance when Jack, freezing the water out of his sweater after a particularly imaginative scheme had landed them in a river playing sharks – Neferket staying as far away as she could, even several hours _after_ they’d dried up – wondered aloud how Pitch’s clothes even worked.

“I mean, if they’re made of shadows, how come they can get wet? And if they can get wet, how come the fireball our friend Sailor Sun there threw at you didn’t scorch them?”

That had been a random question, born out of genuine curiosity but also of genuine “I just spent thirty minutes playing the music of Jaws in my head, I need a break” feeling. He hadn’t expected an answer.

Pitch had looked down at his – already dried – coat, and shrugged. “It’s simple enough. It _is_ shadow, that’s all.”

Seeing Jack’s expression, he smirked gleefully. “I see I need to elaborate. It is shadow made cloth, so just like a cloth it is vulnerable to any physical damage it encounters, and just like a shadow it can’t be destroyed by light. A shadow is created by an obstacle blocking the way of the light – i.e. me. The demon didn’t attack me with fire, but with light. It made the shadow disappear briefly, but since I was still alive afterwards it reappeared without any noticeable damage.” He looked down at the worn hem of his coat. “If it _had_ killed me everything I have ever created out of shadows, no matter what… everything would be gone. There wouldn’t be a single thing left of me.”

A heavy silence ensued. As he watched Pitch’s bowed head, a thought started trotting through Jack’s mind.

“And did you… did you create a lot of shadows? I mean, shadow-things? Like the nightmares?”

Pitch’s thin lips stretched into an uncomfortable smile.

“Ah, yes, the mares… They were special. Not made of pure shadow, though, so, if some of them are still around… maybe they would survive. I’m not sure.”

Jack was stricken by the tone of his voice. The last time he’d seen any of the mares they’d been sweeping Pitch into a dark, unforgiving tornado, locking him for years in a weakened state and a desolate realm. Yet he was still talking about them with fondness, even reverence. The same tone he used about Nessie.

He suddenly remembered the first time he’d been seen. He had just created a rabbit. It had been for Bunny, for Easter’s joy and hope, and it had been the first time he could remember he had created something that looked and felt alive, despite it being made only of frost, cold water on glass. He had not given much thought about the little bunny at the time, too swept up in the rush of emotions, then the rush of action – but afterwards he’d came back and it was gone. He had felt a pang then. Of course frost could only last for so long, even in cold weather. Still he had hoped…

He had made others since then. Stronger ones, other shapes. He always preferred bunnies, though.

“Were there others? Apart from the mares? Things made of shadows?”

Pitch hesitated. “… Yes. I don’t know how many still exist.”

“So if you die –”

“Gone will be the adorable little doggy I made for my grandma’s hundredth birthday, yes! Will you stop with the questions now?”

There they were, the rising spikes. Jack fought back his curiosity, and shut up.

Soon, he hoped, he would have answers – freely given.

* * *

They avoided any place too easily traceable to them or the Guardians. Exit the Pole, or Sandman’s castle – did it still exist anyway? – or Pitch’s lair. Exit also Burgess. Until the fairy came.

And this time, it _was_ Baby Tooth.

Jack found the little fairy pale and exhausted, her flight erratic, her eyes cloudy. When he scooped her up, he was shocked by how light she felt. Usually she perched on his fingers like a hummingbird, hardly still, brimming with energy. Now she wavered like a lost feather in the wind.

“Hey, Baby Tooth, I’m so happy to see you!” cooed Jack, deciding not to mention how awful she looked. “Have you found Toothiana and the others? Are they all right?”

But the little fairy shook her head.

“Then… well, at least you’re all right, okay? We’ve seen the other fairies from time to time, they’re working great! I’m sure all will be well in no time!”

He heavily swallowed the next empty words he was about to utter. Baby Tooth’s eyes were alight with distress. Fear. Not the kind they were trying to raise in the kids, the wrong kind. The kind that made his insides go colder. Deader.

“What is it?”

She tutted, whistled, hummed, and the more he understood – he had become quite adept over the years, even if mistranslations persisted – the more silent the outside world became. A thick layer of tar spread over him, drowning him, suffocating him. His dead heart contorted.

“Jack?”

She _had_ to be wrong.

“Jack? What does she want?”

Baby Tooth pricked his finger, not unkindly. He started.

Pitch. Of course, Pitch was down there, waiting. He couldn’t fly. Children could barely see him yet – just a distant, threatening shadow. He was not ready.

Jack floated down.

“She said the demon’s in Burgess.”

* * *

They stopped in the darkness of a random cave. Baby Tooth was gone. Neferket had disappeared somewhere. They were alone, and for the first time in a long, blissful while, they fought.

“There _must_ be a way!”

“There _is_ no way! Jack, I am barely capable of scaring a nine-year-old right now; what do you expect me to do? Throw Neferket at it?”

“There’s always something! Some solution, I don’t know, maybe we could trick it, maybe we could ask Bast to –”

“Bast won’t help, Jack. Maybe, a long time ago, she would have, but not now. The power she once had is the Guardians’, and they’re gone.”

Jack stopped. He had been half-pacing, half-throwing himself from one side of the cave to the other, feeling like a leaf caught in a tempest. Now he froze with his back to the bogeyman, hands clutching his staff so hard he could almost feel it break. The shadows that he was starting to get used to, to the point of finding them comforting in times of doubt, crept around him, as if hungry for his fear.

It seemed so absurd for there to be a lack of fear in the world. There should be enough in his mind alone.

But he didn’t count.

“I think we have to face the truth, Jack. They’re not coming back. Either they’re still too weak and will be for years, perhaps centuries… or they’re dead.”

Jack shook his head. “But Baby Tooth –”

“Yes, she looked so good, didn’t she?” sneered Pitch, bitter cruelty in his voice. “Peachy. Like the other tooth fairies we see less and less of.”

“Will you SHUT UP?!”

He had turned, brandishing his staff, and for an instant they were back in the Antarctic, ready to duel with spears of ice and shadows. Pitch, though, just took a step back. Almost stumbled.

Jack tore his gaze away from his internal storm and looked at Pitch’s face, his large yellow eyes fixed on the cold spirals at the end of his weapon. The brief, but unmistakable, flash of fear. What did he look like?

He lowered the staff, his shoulders dropping. “I have to do something, Pitch. I don’t care if I’m alone, if it’s hopeless, I can’t… I can’t leave them there. With that thing.”

Pitch raised his hands soothingly. “Then we keep on doing what we’ve been doing so far. It’s working, Jack! Each day I feel stronger, and I can do more! I promise you –”

“But when?” interrupted Jack. “When will you be ready? You told us that even at your full power you weren’t a match for this monster! So tell me, honestly: will you ever be? Or will we have to wait forever?”

Pitch hesitated. Jack stepped closer. Putting his hand in his pocket, he took out a piece of paper. “You see that?”

Pitch’s brow furrowed. Jack unfolded the paper and held it out to him. There was a crude, childish drawing on it.

“Jamie gave it to me, said Cupcake made it. She wanted me to keep it, he said. So I did.”

The drawing represented a smiling figure with a shock of snow-white hair and a shepherd’s staff. On the boy’s blue sweater, a very stick-like and very _pink_ creature was either dancing or having a heart attack – presumably the former, considering the goofy grin on its face. It had a horn on its forehead.

Pitch’s eyebrows went up. “I know the girl has a thing for unicorns, but unless you hid something from me, I don’t think you do.”

Jack smiled at the drawing. “Jamie told me she tried to draw a snowflake, but couldn’t make it look good enough, so she just draw the most beautiful thing she could think of instead. That’s her happiness.”

A heavy silence fell. Jack was looking, sad and forlorn, at the drawing, and Pitch was looking at Jack. Darkness crept upon them. For once, it didn’t feel comforting.

It seemed long minutes had passed when Pitch finally found his voice again.

“Don’t… There’s no indication they’re in any danger –”

He stopped under the sudden force of Jack’s stare.

“Can you say that again and mean it? Considering what you, of all people, know about the demon?”

Pitch stayed silent.

Jack went on, as if the thought had just occurred to him when it had, in fact, been festering in his head for long, burning weeks: “I read somewhere that in the Dark Ages, it was not that common for people to be burned. Witches, for example, they generally were hanged. Tell me, those cases of burning people at the stake, still alive… did they happen when a demon of light was near?”

Pitch gestured helplessly. “I’m not sure…”

“What did you see, yourself? With your own eyes?”

“It doesn’t matter! There’s nothing we can do!”

Jack stared blankly at him. “… So we abandon them? Just like that? Because we’re cowards, that’s what you’re saying?”

“I’d rather be a coward with a chance of fighting than dead! Jack, why can’t you see, there’s nothing to gain by going there!”

“Maybe it’s got a weakness we don’t know of yet. Or maybe we won’t have to fight at all; all we would need would be to take the kids away from there, take them somewhere safe –”

“Like WHERE?” shouted Pitch, exasperated. “In the woods, in the middle of nowhere? They’re HUMAN CHILDREN, Jack, they CAN’T fly and they CAN’T shadow travel! Hell, right now, neither can WE!”

“THEN I’LL WALK!”

Jack steadied himself, took a deep breath. He had never shouted like that since that day in Antarctica, when he had felt lost and betrayed by the whole world, but most of all, ashamed.

He was _tempted_.

Tempted to agree with Pitch, to leave Burgess in the clutches of a monster, leave Jamie. Fear born out of reason made him feel like a traitor to himself, and to the children that mattered most. What would he gain, indeed, if he was captured, or killed – or worse: if his intervention provoked the demon into killing the kids?

If he stayed, listened to patience, he and Pitch would be able to prepare. Plan a counter-attack. Perhaps, finally, find sign of the Guardians. Maybe even convince Bast to help? And there were others, ancient, powerful beings. They couldn’t be the only ones left. Pitch was right: they had everything to lose by going to Burgess.

He had everything to lose by not going.

He looked down at the piece of paper. As always, it felt fragile in his hands, ready to be crumpled and shredded. How it had survived the Loch Ness waters, he had no idea. Maybe a bit of his magic protected it; maybe it was Cupcake’s magic, the girl was so fierce, everything she made had to be safe. The boy in the drawing was smiling up at him, his face lit up by confidence and joy.

“Jack?”

Carefully, he folded the paper.

He looked up into worried eyes.

“I have to go, Pitch. Stay here if you want. Keep working on your powers. I’ll get back to you as soon as the children are safe.”

“Jack, they won’t –”

“And take care of Neferket. I don’t want her following me there.”

Without listening to Pitch’s objections, Jack strode towards the cave entrance. It was still night, the perfect time to go. The perfect time to let go. He felt free, already. No more uncertainty.

A hand on his wrist jolted him. Pitch rarely ever touched him. Yet there he was, his eyes immense and pleading.

“You won’t come back.”

Uncomprehending, Jack furrowed his brows. “I swear I’ll be back as soon as–”

“No. If you leave, you won’t be back. You have to reconsider.”

Coldly, “It’s all considered.”

Jack made to step back, only to be seized again, this time in a death-like grip ferocious with fear, and tugged forward, once, sharply. His protest died on his lips as Pitch’s mouth covered his.

There came an eternity of thoughts, tumbling together in Jack’s head, while he forgot to breathe. Pitch had never shown… Well, there had been those fleeting moments during the gone-too-soon massages. And, come to think of it, plenty of others. Jack had hoped, he admitted it. He had been trying to flirt for so long, and Bast had always said he was kind of terrible at it – but Pitch had seemed so distant for so long, so unreachable… as much, at least, as the shadows he used to melt into.

Pitch had closed his eyes, Jack didn’t know why. But he felt something beating against his dead chest, and it had to be Pitch’s heart, nothing else could be that loud and that imperious. Close as he was, he felt hot as a furnace, but the right kind of hot, the kind Jack remembered from long ago, back in his home in front of the fire, a haven of brightness at the center of his life. He found himself answering the kiss, since that’s what it was, no doubt, and gripping Pitch almost as strongly as Pitch was gripping him.

He couldn’t have known how long they stayed that way, wrapped around each other, and it was that thought that killed it.

He shuddered violently, broke the contact, and stepped away.

“Jack?”

Pitch’s eyes, again. Golden and full of so many emotions Jack felt seized with vertigo. Pitch, who had been alone for so long and felt so much. Pitch, who was ready to do anything to keep the loneliness at bay. How he could empathize. And how much sense that made.

Jack took a deep breath he felt he needed despite all evidence to the contrary, and took another step back.

“…”

He wanted to say something, but instead, he just flew away.

Just like that.

* * *

Romrothea settled comfortably in front of the computer screen. It checked its mailbox with fingers that were only slightly searing beneath their artificial, narrow disguise of flesh. It always took a while to create these illusions, but it had always been worth it, even now that the unknown and unusual didn’t frighten the locals so much. This one looked like a human male in his fifties, with pasty-white skin, a beard, and a hooked nose. It – and similar versions of it – always had been strikingly useful with the humans. Thankfully their archetypes hadn’t changed much in those few hundred years.

43 new messages, spam not included. Not bad. Technology was definitely making things better. Back in the day it took Romrothea twice as long at least to weave a web efficient enough to get what it wanted, when it wanted; now the web was all pre-set and ready to use.

The strategy rarely varied. Romrothea would worm itself into whatever superstitious community ruled over the unwise, assimilate their doctrine and world view, and brandish it like a blade in the direction of the powerless and pariahs of society. It was remarkably easy to turn many minds into one and make of them what was needed – to stir up discontent and fan the dangerous ambers of fear into violence and hatred.

Romrothea itself had felt a twinge of fear upon entering this new old world, thinking maybe the humans would have changed, would see through its posturing and understand its real goals; but no, nothing had changed that much. For a society that prided itself on its values and knowledge, it was still remarkably susceptible to poison.

It got Romrothea as much money than in the past, but it came faster – thanks Patreon – and with many more uses. The tanning beds, for instance – how marvellous! How liberating! For a few hours each night Romrothea could almost break the confines of its artificial flesh and stretch fully under a light that, despite all its limitations, was still light.

The money allowed it to buy plenty of other commodities, too, including the security system that had served it so well in the recent past, when the Guardians – ah – tried to set Pitch Black upon it.

Romrothea glanced at the other screen in the room. It displayed several camera feeds from around Burgess town. A few houses. A figure standing still on the sidewalk, near a wall. Romrothea had noticed that figure straight away. It had stood out like the unmelting, magical snow it was. A spitting image of the enemy, ready to strike.

The demon had noticed the kids as well. Not even half a dozen, playing together, talking about Jack Frost – Romrothea knew the name now, it was always wise to know the name of your enemies. One of them, a boy with bright eyes, often looked at the snowman as if it frustrated him. It was almost a look of recognition, of fear. That boy – all of them, probably – had met Pitch before.

So Romrothea had set its web. Settled down at the center, big, imposing, obvious. And waited.

Until one of the camera feeds betrayed the image of a strange Peter Pan floating to a window…

* * *

Jack tried not to think, just like he had in the depths of the Loch Ness waters. Thinking hadn’t been useful then, it wasn’t going to be useful now. He just needed to go in, wake Jamie up, wake the others up, get them out of the town, into safety. Details could wait. Maybe there would be another Nessie there, ready to swoop in, save them all. Perhaps another cat would show the way.

Don’t think of the demon. Don’t think of the fire.

Think of Jamie.

He came up to the darkened window. Not for the first time, he reflected on how much he had come to appreciate the cold velvet of the night. In its fold, he felt almost safe, if a little bit less human, less alive. A strange comfort to have, and what was that saying? Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness, yeah right. Jack liked cursing the darkness, he had made an art of it during these last few weeks. He had the feeling that if he was to light a candle now, it would curse _him_.

Jamie, as it happened, was awake. If he came to the window with his usual boundless enthusiasm, something about his expression was off. It was not fear which furrowed the boy’s brows and dampened his smile, of course not – but it was like its fainter, more boring parent: unease. Unrest.

As if Jamie actually _couldn’t_ sleep.

“Hi, Jack!”

“Jamie, are you all right? And Sophie?”

The boy’s eyes widened slightly. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I don’t really have time to explain. What about the others?”

“What, Cupcake and the guys? They’re fine, I s’pose. We played Cluedo this afternoon since it was raining, you wouldn’t believe how long it took us to find–”

“Jamie, you must leave.”

Jamie’s mouth froze open on his unfinished sentence.

“I can’t really tell you the whole story now, but you and the others, you’re in grave danger.” Jack took a deep breath. What could be made worse by telling the truth? “There’s a monster in Burgess. It’s extremely dangerous, and it’s after me. If it finds you all it might try to hurt you to get to me. It’s weaker at night so we have to go now. Listen, just, put some warm clothes on, get your sister, and I’ll go and wake the others.”

“Does it have to do with Mr. Bell?”

Jack blinked. “What?”

“Mr. Bell. He’s that new teacher at school, he’s very good and my parents love him but I don’t know, I find him a bit –”

“Scary?” Jack whispered the word.

But Jamie shook his head. “No, not really. He’s nice, and all. But he says weird things sometimes, and he’s really religious – but not the fun kind, you know. More like, my uncle who always spent Christmas lecturing us about Hell. Except not drunk. I’m not sure.” Jamie shrugged, as if his unability to properly describe his feelings was bothering him. “He’s just weird.”

“He… He might be involved with the monster, yes,” said Jack, resolving not to give any more details for the moment. “Which is why we don’t have time to lose, come on.” He turned, ready to shoot through the sky despite the cold dread in his stomach – if he left now, would he find Jamie again?

_Of course you will, you big dope. He’s not gonna disappear in five minutes!_

Still, as Jamie slowly nodded and started to dress, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that something was too easy…

* * *

They met up in the kids’ favorite park, slightly on the outskirts of town, a few minutes later, Jack having personally flown each of them to their destination. Not wanting to alarm them too much, he had painstakingly avoided looking over his shoulder in anxiety, but as they waved at one another and talked among themselves of this strange adventure, he realized nothing he could do would make much of a difference. They couldn’t feel much fear anymore. _For now._

For a few seconds, he was tempted, thoroughly tempted, to put to use all the know-how he had learned with Pitch. Scare them real good, shake off those irritatingly vacant smiles. Scream at them, why aren’t you scared, fleeing from a monster in the dead of the night, leaving your families behind, and with a long-dead boy for sole company? Are you _mad_?

But how could he look into their earnest, trusting faces, and do such a thing?

So they started walking.

It was then that Jack realized he truly had no idea what he was doing. What was he thinking, taking those kids with him? Where was he going to lead them? To the cave, with Pitch Black as babysitter? There was no North Pole to take asylum in. No giant rabbit tunnels to hide in. He couldn’t fly them all in one go to the Tooth Fairy’s palace. And he didn’t have a place of his own.

And what would they eat? He remembered how much appetite he had as a child, and he’d seen them eat. And what about facilities? It’s not as if they could wear diapers anymore!

He almost laughed at his own stupidity. Yet he kept on walking, encouraging them to go as fast as possible, pointing with his staff like the world’s most confused shepherd. He would find a solution. He always did, he was Jack Frost, Guardian, hero. And these were no ordinary kids. In all likelihood they would end up taking care of _him_.

His thoughts were so jittery he hadn’t even paid attention to their chatter.

“But what if Mom worries? You know how annoying she can get!”

“Don’t sweat it! We’ll just call her tomorrow, tell her we left early to play in the park or whatever.”

“But with what? It’s not as if we have a cell phone…”

“Monty has one, don’t you Monty?”

“Yeah, but there isn’t any number on it except my parents and Mr Bell’s…”

“Why do you have Mr Bell’s number on your phone?”

“Because he’s the one who gave it to me, for my birthday! Said it was because of how helpful and welcoming my dad had been to him. It’s not as if I’m gonna call him anyway…”

“Hey, Jamie, didn’t you say it was because of Mr Bell that we’re running off tonight?”

“That’s what Jack said.”

“Then shouldn’t we drop the phone? I heard about trackers, the other day, and–”

Jack spun around so fast he got dizzy – or maybe it was the sudden burst of realization. Cupcake almost took a step back, alarmed by the expression on his face. “What do you mean, trackers?”

“You know, things that sent signals to tell where you are, like GPS.”

“Where’s the phone?”

Monty, probably sensing something bad was going to happen to his brand new smartphone, held it over nonetheless. Jack grabbed it, and smashed it with a blast of frost. Monty didn’t even look surprised. To his credit, neither did he look cross.

All he said was: “Dad is gonna be so mad…”

The children looked back and forth between the sorry remnants of the phone, Jack, and the darkened woods around them.

Caleb rose an eyebrow at his brother. “So no calling Mom, uh?”

Jack took Sophie in his arms. She was a much bigger girl than she used to be, but he could still bear her weight with relative ease.

“Everyone: run. As fast as you can!”

And he took off. He wished he could use the wind to propel himself further and faster, but he didn’t want to leave the other kids behind. Thankfully, despite the darkness and the uneven terrain, they were fast – if fear wasn’t pushing them forward, something else certainly was. Sophie giggling excitedly in his arms, Jack ran and ran towards an undecided goal. All he knew was that they had to get as far away from Burgess as possible, and as far away from Pitch as well, because the demon wasn’t after him, but after Pitch, and if he led the kids to the cave they would all be doomed, no hope left. No, the only solution was to find another hideout, keep the kids there, maybe come back to Burgess for their parents, just in case – but to do what, exactly, he didn’t know ; or perhaps try to throw the demon on a wrong track, make it lose precious time while Jack–

The world in front of them erupted into flames.

In less than a second, they found themselves stopped dead, trapped in a circle of fire.

Pippa screamed, Caleb and Claude clutched at each other, Monty tripped and fell down. Jack leapt back, holding Sophie tight. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cupcake and Jamie step closer to the others, their faces alight with alarm and fascination.

For a few seconds, Jack feverishly thought they could still escape. A wave of his staff – almost knocking Sophie on the head – sent a bright blast of snow on the fire blocking his path, putting it out. But as soon as the flames disappeared, new ones took form a few feet away, enlarging the circle instead of breaking it. He tried again, only to jump back with a cry when the fire lashed out, roaring towards him as if he’d just put oil over it.

He looked up. The fire didn’t reach overhead. Maybe he could simply–

“You will end up regretting your cleverness. If you had simply led me to Pitch, everything would have been over much faster.”

The demon was coming towards them. Its new human guise was as different as could be from the beautiful woman it appeared as before, but its eyes were the same – arrogant, mocking. The hulking mass of its real form almost reached the sky, but it didn’t seem as solid as it had in the North Pole. Jack felt a sliver of hope. During the day he would have had no chance. Right now, in the dead of night, maybe he could incapacitate it long enough to take the kids to safety.

“Mr Bell!” shouted Pippa. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

“Also I broke your phone!” added Monty. “Sorry!”

The demon didn’t pay them much attention. It was only looking at Jack.

“Good children should be in bed at such an hour. What a deplorable example you make, Jack Frost. Almost as bad as that has-been scarecrow you’re hanging out with.”

“Hey!” shot back Jack. “He’s not has-been! As I’m sure you know!”

Maybe if he shot a big blast of frost at it, it would fall over and then he could try and bury it under a flow of snow…

“If you’re trying to think up a surprise attack, allow me to remind you your protégés are remarkably close to fairly intense flames. According to my experience, small humans burn remarkably well in the right circumstances.”

Jack clutched his staff – and Sophie – tighter. “… What do you want?”

“Clearly, I want Pitch. But since this time and place is hardly suited to a long conversation, I’ll settle for you. Unless you want to tell me where your friend is right now.”

“I would tell you, but it wouldn’t be polite.”

“As I thought. Then allow me–”

Jack leapt into action before the demon could complete his sentence. With his staff he sent a wave of frost at the creature, and in the same fluid move deposited Sophie into Cupcake’s strong arms. Then, his hands freed, he sent a new, bigger burst of cold upon the flames, breaking the circle. He screamed to the petrified group of kids: “RUN!” then turned to face the demon.

And realized the cover of night, while helpful, had only slowed the thing a smidge.

A few moments of chaos ensued, as cold and heat dueled in dreadful, almost total silence. The good news was that right now, the demon was mostly uncorporeal, with only its human form – strong as it was – capable of landing blows. The bad news was that it didn’t make much difference. Even weakened, the creature was still the most formidable fighter Jack had ever seen, and Jack was at a tragic disadvantage: he had to restrict the flow of his powers to make sure no stray frost or ice would accidentally hit the fleeing children.

But were they even fleeing?

Seized by doubt, Jack made his only mistake – he turned his head slightly, taking a fragment of his attention away from the demon to check if the little group had gone. To discover to his dismay that, while they had ran away from what remained of the circle of fire, they were hovering still not too far away, seemingly torn between the desire to obey his order, and the need to see how the fight was going.

The next thing he knew, a sun exploded in his face.

* * *

Jamie saw Jack fall.

It was such an inimaginable thing, that for one moment, he could not actually believe it. The image – Jack flying backwards, arms first drawn up to protect his face then falling limp as his body hit the ground – seemed like one of these optical illusions that always fascinated him. Jack couldn’t be dead. It was impossible.

He rushed forward.

Big, unyielding fingers closed on his shoulder, drawing him back so fiercely he flew backwards himself, landing in a confused heap on the ground.

He looked up at Cupcake, still holding Sophie with one hand. She didn’t say anything, but as she stood in his line of vision between him and the two entities, her expression was clear: stop being an idiot.

A second later, the flames suddenly reappeared all around them, rounding them up, shrieking and tripping, like cattle. All except Jamie, who had fell outside the reach of the circle, out of sight.

Pulling up Monty, who had fallen again, Cupcake hissed to Jamie: “Run! Run before he finds you!”

And Jamie ran. It wasn’t much use arguing with Cupcake anyway.

As he disappeared in the darkness between the trees, Cupcake turned back to see Mr Bell bend over the prone form of Jack Frost. Seeing a sheet of paper sticking out from his sweater pockets, Mr Bell took it, unfolded it, and, after looking at it with mild interest, set it on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that took so long! If any of you are still out there, I apologize greatly for my tardiness. I hit a bad, bad case of writer's block: I had half of the chapter written for months, knew where I wanted to go for the last half, but didn't know how to get there.  
> The good news are: seems the fog has lifted. I should be able to finish the fic now.   
> I'm not entirely happy about the fight scene. Also, even after so many months, I still don’t know if Pitch’s explanation about his coat makes any sense.


	9. Only Fear to play with

 

Pitch was wavering.

He didn’t like it. He used to be so sure of himself, so convinced of the natural state of the world, of his place in it. He didn’t like standing in the dark, in silence, looking up at the bits of starry sky he could see through the canopy, listening intently for a rush of wind, a laugh, any sign Jack was coming back.

Neferket had not reappeared, and he didn’t know if he preferred her gone or not. She was company, but maybe wherever she went she was keeping tabs on Jack. Cats were good at that (bloody Bast).

He felt his body brimming with nervous energy, locked into a fight-or-flight mode that seemed completely ridiculous to him. Weakened as he was still, how could he fight? And with his shadow-travel so unreliable, how could he flee? If Jack didn’t come back, or if the demon suddenly appeared, what could he possibly do that would be of any use to anyone?

He did not even know what had possessed him to do… what he did, before Jack left. He had never been one to yield to impulses. Well, he _had_ , but not that type of impulse. Not… whatever abject fear seized his whole being when he realized Jack had made up his mind, that he was going to choose the kids over him. It wasn’t so much jealousy as a terrible, grinding sense of inexorable loss. A feeling that not only would Jack put himself in grave danger by going, he would remember what good people were like when he came back into contact with the kids, and realize Pitch really wasn’t the company he wanted at all.

The thing with being needed, was that when you weren’t anymore, you felt like you were nothing at all.

He stayed there for a while, watching, listening. Trying not to remember the feel of Jack against him, the strangely reassuring coolness of his skin, his instinctive enthusiasm for everything. Then he shook himself and went back into the cave, emptying his mind into training, melting from one patch of darkness to another until he felt the old familiarity really snap back into place. He still couldn’t go far, but at least his aim now seemed true.

Then he went out again, and resumed his vigil, unable to do anything else.

Hours passed. As much as he would have liked to pretend they were only minutes stretched by his worry, he knew it was not true: he could see the sky brightening, the stars fading. Finally, as dawn broke the edge of the world, he started pacing.

He had to find another hideout, and soon. Each passing minute put him in more danger.

However, if he left, how would Jack find him?

_If_ he was still alive to search for him?

A sudden noise jolted through him. A branch cracking, the sound of breathing, of a body running through undergrowth.

Pitch knew it wasn’t Jack, because Jack would have flown, would have been lighter, more feathery, and because Jack wouldn’t have breathed so much. Except Pitch wasn’t really thinking at that moment, so he still ran forward, ready to dive for cover if needed, and to rush in assistance otherwise.

The boy and the bogeyman amost collided with each other.

The boy let out a shriek, staggered backwards, and almost fell. Pitch leapt back, alarmed, hands raised as if to strike with a scythe he couldn’t materialize. The two looked at each other, and just as Pitch realized the boy could see him, he got an even bigger shock.

“The… the bogeyman?”

Pitch blinked. That wasn’t happening. Was it?

“You… know who I am?”

The boy was still catching his breath. He looked like he had been running for a long time. He seemed terribly tired, but the stare he had on Pitch was straight and true. And the look of recognition in his eyes was all too real.

“I… I think. I’ve seen you. Before, and… there was a snowman. He looked like you.”

“A snowman? What snowman?”

“The one Jack made. Jack Frost. You…” Another flash of recognition. “Are you Pitch?”

But his question was drowned by Pitch’s own. “You know Jack Frost? Where is he?”

“I…”

Then something happened. Something so brilliant, so joyful, so marvellous for the bogeyman that for one single instant he forgot all about his own worries.

The boy’s eyes lit up with fear. His face paled, his lips tightened with the effort of keeping so much negative emotion in. And his voice shook when he said: “The demon. He was taken by the demon.”

 

* * *

 

As a precaution, Pitch lead Jamie in the darkest corners of the cave before hearing his story. He knew it was selfish, and that Jack wouldn’t have approved, but if the demon appeared, he needed to be able to get away fast – and now he could at least shadow travel from the cave to another part of the forest. It would be leaving the boy in danger, but Pitch had never been a hero. Plus the boy survived this far: either the demon didn’t find him important, or he had the most insolent luck.

He remembered the boy now. Jamie, Jack had called him. The impertinent pipsqueak who had refused to fear him, an eternity ago. He had grown a bit, but still the unshakable faith in the Guardians shone bright in him. Pitch would have winced if he hadn’t been so worried about Jack. It was a testament to how dire the situation was that he never even was tempted to give the boy a good scare, for old times’ sake.

When Jamie’s tale was over, Pitch didn’t say anything. He just stood and started pacing.

“Is Jack dead?” asked Jamie.

Pitch shook his head vehemently. “No. I would know if he was. You would know too. He’s a Guardian, you still believe in him, hence he’s not dead.”

“Can we do something to help him?”

Pitch stared at the darkest patch of darkness in the room.

They could try. Well, _he_ could try. The boy would be as useful as a sand-less Sandman. With the added malus of being able to talk. Yes, he could go to Burgess, find where “Mr Bell” lived – Jamie thought he knew the place, good thing small towns are so gossipy – and try to free Jack… somehow. A plan which was 100% garanteed to end up in literal flames.

That demon was clever. There wouldn’t be one door, one window left unchecked. And the whole place would probably be lit up like a bloody Christmas tree, minus the cheer.

They could try. And it would be a disaster, and Jamie would probably die, and Jack, if he survived, would hate him until the end of time.

Jamie’s thoughts had not been idle themselves.

“If it’s a demon, can’t we banish it? I’ve read that you can do rituals to summon or banish demons. Is that true?”

Pitch’s mind flashed back to North’s place, the big library full of completely disgusting books about Christmas and joy and presents, and that one book about demons. He had a splendid memory, and remembered in great detail the ritual described in the book : the simple but elegant design of the circle, the simple but precise words one had to recite – at least the creators of the thing knew one should never be too complicated when invoking abominations from alternate dimensions.

He was supposed to defeat the demon by getting stronger. Dark against light, fear against illusion. That was the scenario.

But maybe fate had screwed with him a little too much recently. Time to try something else.

“It’s true. There’s a way we could summon the demon, imprison it in a circle, and force it to depart this world. We would need a few things, though.”

“Candles, pentagrams, things like that?”

Pitch snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Imagine if a draft of wind took your candles out? No, a ritual has to stay simple and straightforward. You need a bit of chalk to draw the circle, a tool to compel local energies, and –”

He faltered. Oh yes, there was that.

“What?”

“Never mind. Back to square one.”

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

“I mean, the most important thing we need to be able to do the ritual is the one thing we will never be able to find. So forget it. I suggest we just run and hide.” And somehow those words were made even worse by the fact that they were said in the presence of a child who should have seen him as fearsome, a child Jack loved and respected.

Also, a very _stubborn_ child.

“You sure? What is it?”

“Don’t bother. It’s hopeless anyway.”

“Jack wouldn’t say that.”

Well, that hurt. “I don’t think you realize how inconsequential Jack’s sayings are in the grand order of things.”

“They’re not to me.”

Pitch was about to shrug, when a thought struck him, rather nastily.

“That snowman you were talking about. When did you see it?”

“Uh? Well, it’s still around, I think. It never seemed to melt. That’s Jack Frost for you,” the boy added proudly. “And it really looked amazingly like you. But I don’t remember when he made it…”

“Try!”

Surprised by the vehement tone, Jamie furrowed his brow. After a few reminiscing seconds, he gave Pitch his best approximation of the moment Jack Frost brought him to life as a snow construct.

Pitch swallowed heavily.

A few days before the Guardians came to take him out of his hole, like a bad dog back in favor, there had been one beautiful instant in his dark solitude.

He had been trying to bend shadows. It had been painful, as always – and hopeless. He couldn’t even breathe properly, his connection to his most vital of elements cut with a searing knife. The nightmares had come and gone, in search of other, better fears than his own tired ones. Darkness was no living realm anymore, and he was no living king. Gone the bogeyman, replaced by an empty carcass. Gone his nightmares and his dreams. Gone everything.

He had watched the shadows slip between his fingers like dead things. Had looked at the globe he had long ago covered with a very real cloth, so its many lights would not burn his eyes.

Had felt nothing but emptiness.

And then… a fragment of _something_ came back to him.

It was minuscule, hardly anything to speak of. A brief, hardly noticeable instant of peace, of belonging. His breathing cleared. For the first time in eons, he could feel the shadows, could feel a contact that was real. It had gone as fast as it had appeared, but remnants of it remained for days. Before the Guardians came down and threw him up into the world again, he had – infinitesimally – felt better.

Now he realized it was all because of Jack.

When Jamie had seen the snowman, and screamed, it had jolted something connected to fear, connected to Pitch. Jack had brought back fear, only for a second, only for a joke – but he had done it.

Jamie, thanks to Jack, had not completely forgotten Pitch.

“We’ll need the demon’s real name.”

Jamie blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “But that’s not hard! I told you, his name is Mr Bell. You mean it’s not his real name?”

“Now you’re a regular genius, aren’t you? Of course not! For demons, names are the most important things in the world; they would never reveal theirs to anyone, not even other demons. And this particular demon is very, very crafty. There’s no way it left any trace of its name anywhere. And without the name, there can be no ritual.”

Silence settled for a few seconds. Then: “Why not?”

“Because.”

“No, I mean, are you sure we absolutely need the name? Are there other demons of light around?”

Pitch frowned, not sure what the boy was coming at. “Not that I know of. They’re territorial, we would have found out long ago if there had been several on Earth.”

“And it’s a ritual only for demons of light?”

“… Yes?”

“And it only works in our world?”

“I think so…”

“So if it’s the only one in the vicinity, the ritual magic or whatever would have no choice but choose this one, whether we have the right name or not!”

If Pitch had been his normal self, he would have very loudly scoffed at such an idiotic idea. The most likely outcome of such a scenario, would be a complete failure of the ritual at best, and at worst a extremely dangerous summoning with no bindings of any kind. And Pitch found very difficult to find humor in that.

Yet something else made him reconsider his harsh answer. It was certainly not the bright look of hope in the boy’s eyes. It was also unlikely to be born of any type of belief the ritual might work, or that they could find a way to get the name. In fact Pitch had no idea what it was at all, except that it was only slightly familiar and very deeply unpleasant.

Jamie made him think of Jack. He was a living, breathing reminder of what he’d just lost, of how his own inadequacies had made it impossible for Jack to stay with him. He had been right all along, Jack should have listened to him, he was angry and he had reason to be… But maybe, if he had gone with Jack, he would have found a way to defend him. He would have felt the demon in time. Jack would have been able to flee, maybe everything would have been all right. Cold and dark…

It was Antarctica reversed. And it hurt even more.

If he turned down Jamie’s plan, idiotic as it was, it would be like failing Jack a second time.

And anyway, what else could they do? Pitch wouldn’t be very useful alone… and Neferket was still absent. Jamie could hardly take Jack’s role in Pitch’s nightmare scenarios; he would not make a very good ghost, to begin with. Whether he liked it or not, this was the only plan they had.

He wouldn’t really do the ritual. That he was sure of. But preparing for it would be doing _something_ , and activity might bring much better ideas around.

He sighed. “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Jack had always liked fire. While destructive, it was one of the most beautiful things in nature, and very useful to boot.

But as he sat in the middle of the cage the demon had set up for him, all he could think of was how much he hated fire.

The demon – Mr Bell or whatever it called itself – was smiling at him through the bars.

“Ingenious, isn’t it? The metal bars, of course, are insulated against the heat of the flames, and the fire is kept burning by a constant outpouring of fuel. Helped by my own magic, of course. This way, I can keep the flames going forever while saving my energy. How do you like it?”

“No comfort. Zero stars.”

“Have it your way.”

The demon – now looking only like an old man – motioned towards a set of cameras fixed to the ceiling. “You noticed this, of course? The whole house is equipped, and I get warned each time a spider sneezes. If you try to escape or send a message out in any way, I will know. And depending on what I learn, you could find yourself short of one of the youngsters you seem to like so much.”

Jack glared as much as the brightness of the bars allowed him. “So they’re hostages.”

“Of course.”

“Aren’t you worried about what they’ll tell their parents?”

“Would their parents believe them?” The demon smiled. “They’re known to have lively imaginations. Little Monty has already been grounded for inventing a ridiculous story to explain why his phone got broken. Such a shame.”

“So if they’re hostages, what am I? Your source of information? You’re going to torture me?”

“Unlikely. How you I know if you told me the truth? And if you did, what are the chances Pitch will still be where you left him? We both know he will run as soon as he feels that something is wrong. In fact I’m sure he’s gone already. I know how strong he is. Not enough to threaten me, still.”

“Then why bother keeping me prisoner? I’m warning you: I will not make a good pet. I’ll scratch the furniture and get ice all over your floors.”

“You’re not a prisoner. Don’t you understand, Jack Frost? You’re _bait_.”

Jack felt his stomach drop. That’s what he had feared.

“You’re even loopier than I thought if you think Pitch will care enough to go and try to free little old me. Haven’t you heard? We were pretty big enemies not too long ago.”

“Ah, but that was the past. I more than anyone know how quickly minds and hearts can change. That snowman wasn’t made out of hate.”

Jack shrugged. “You noticed that, eh? It was just a prank.”

“A prank you built so carefully that it still stands now, weeks after the rest of the snow has gone. Do not try to deceive me, please. I am the master of deception. You and Pitch are close. You spent those weeks together, working at making him stronger.”

“So I care about him.” Jack felt weird pronouncing those words, but he had to say something, and he instinctively understood that something had to be true, in order to make the next lie more convincing. “That doesn’t mean he cares about me. He hates all Guardians and I am a Guardian.”

“Even if he doesn’t like you personally, you are important to him in some way. He is not powerful enough to fight alone. If he doesn’t try and rescue you, you might still make for a useful distraction. And, in the remote but intriguing possibility of Pitch getting most of his power back… you might be even more useful as _fuel_.”

“… Fuel?”

“A great burning sacrifice, ideal to both draw Pitch out of his hiding place and give me a considerable power boost. Don’t worry, it probably won’t be enough to kill you – hence why mortals make for better prey. I bet it will hurt, though.”

“I’m touched by your sollicitude.”

A thought crossed Jack’s mind. Since the demon seemed to be in a talking mood…

“And what about the other Guardians?” He didn’t dare add: “Are they still alive?”

As he hoped, the demon partially answered that question for him. “They represent no danger for me. I am however prepared for any eventuality.”

_It doesn’t think they’re dead. Or at least, it doesn’t know for sure._

“And the phone? Seems you weren’t prepared for that!”

The demon shrugged. Jack wondered, somewhat angrily, if it was mocking him. “A bump in the road, as the humans say. But don’t worry, it was only a momentary lapse of judgment.”

Jack couldn’t suppress a smirk.

The demon raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, yes, you’re thinking of the boy, Jamie.”

Jack’s smile dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you didn’t think I forgot his existence? He escaped only because I allowed it.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to look smarter than you are.”

The demon laughed. It was such a human sound Jack found it terrifying. “Why should I have bothered chasing him down? He does not have any value on his own. He will come back eventually, because his family – especially his little sister – is here. And if, in the meantime, he were to meet Pitch Black, or cross his path in any way… In my experience, young boys makes formidable liabilities. They are easy to manipulate and get information from. Whatever he does is certainly garanteed, sooner or later, to be of use to me.”

“… Or of use to Pitch,” growled Jack.

“Highly unlikely. The boy would make a terrible spy, and Pitch wouldn’t gain much power by terrorizing him. What else could such a young boy be good for?”

 

* * *

 

They went on a field trip.

They had to walk, which would have been boring if the boy didn’t have the glorious idea of babbling nonstop, making the whole process excruciating instead. Jamie asked about the shadowy composition of his coat, the way he blended into shadows, and why aren’t you scary anymore (thanks for _that_ ), and do you think Jack can escape on his own, also do you have something to eat?

The only thing that kept Pitch from growling at him was the aura of fear that surrounded the boy.

It felt good, feeling that much dread, even if it was dread he shared himself. It was clear, from the glimpses he got into the boy’s mind, that Jamie was chattering in order to stop his thoughts from going haywire, and so Pitch kept silent, outwardly brooding, while inwardly enjoying the cold density of very real human fears.

As they neared a small village, he even shadow-travelled into a bakery and brought Jamie some bread. In case it made him look too sappy, he threw it at the boy like a football. (Unfortunately Jamie caught it before it squashed his nose.)

Then they walked further.

And further.

It seemed to take an eternity. The ordeal was made even worse by the fact that they had to stop often, either to spare Jamie’s fragile little human feet, or to avoid too much sunlight. Pitch kept to the shadows as often as possible, melting from one to the other and smirking at Jamie’s vain efforts to keep up with him. He always make sure the boy did, though. As tempted as he was to leave him behind, he needed his guidance for that mission.

The trip had been Jamie’s idea, after all.

They had half-discussed, half-fought about what to do. Pitch wanted to get as far as possible from Burgess. Jamie wanted to stay close by, in case his family or Jack needed him. Both wanted to start preparing for the ritual, and both knew they couldn’t dwindle too long. They needed to stay near Burgess to be sure the ritual would work, and to be able to check on Jack if need be. But they also needed to leave to get the other important ritual componant they didn’t have: the human-made, well-used tool.

“What does it mean, well-used?” asked Jamie.

Pitch had gritted his teeth, remembering Jack asking a similar question.

“Means exactly what it means. The opposite of something that had been left on a shelf for show. A armor dented by blows instead of a ceremonial one. A saddle whose leather has been worn out by several generations of cowboys. A shovel digging up tons of earth as well as the occasional corpse. Things like that.”

“So the older it is, the better?”

Pitch nodded, a bit annoyed. That kid was clever.

“So you see the problem. Where are we going to find such an object in the first place? It’s not as if I could shadow-travel through continents anymore!”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “You could do that?”

“And so much more,” Pitch sighed. “Now I can hardly go a few meters.”

“Perhaps we can look online? There’s lost of old stuff on the Internet; I remember, there was this guy who was selling a hundred ancient jars on Ebay, although I think he was put in jail for fraud or something –”

“That _something_ we can’t afford,” interrumpted Pitch. “And how do you want us to pay for this? Not to mention what adress to give the postman? ‘To ex-Bogeyman and lost boy, Barely visible cave, Middle of the woods, North-East of Burgess, Minnesota’? Trust me, you have more chances of Santa Claus delivering the package himself!”

Jamie looked down. The mention of Santa always seemed to deflate him a bit – as if he couldn’t physically handle the news of his disappearance.

Then the boy brightened up.

“I’ve got an idea!”

And that’s how they found themselves hiking through the night in what was hopefully the right direction.

Finally, they arrived at the entrance of a village. The sign read: Smalltown. From what Pitch could see, it barely deserved the name of hamlet, let alone town. As for “small”, well, at least those who named the place had been optimistic. “Tiny” would have fit better. “Anthill” would have been perfect.

Jamie led him down what apparently was the only real street, towards a semi-big building standing sandwiched between two smaller ones. Its windows showed off flowers which were obviously having trouble resisting minnesotan weather. Above the doors were written the words: “Smalltown’s library-museum”.

There wasn’t much light around, so it didn’t take much effort for Pitch to melt from one outside shadow into an inside one, and open the front doors to the boy. And as the place was so insignificant, it took Jamie only mere seconds to lead the bogeyman to the reason of their presence there.

“So, what do you think? Could they do the trick?”

Pitch looked down the small display stand. Under a square of glass which was, admittedly, impeccably clean, was a red velvet cushion – and laying on the cushion, looking simultaneously very ordinary and very strange, were three finger-sized, elongated, delicate-looking objects. Each had a tiny but very distinct hole on their thicker end, and thinned down to a sharp-ish point on the other. All were the color of bone – because they were made of bone.

And even through the glass, Pitch could feel their weight. Not in actual grams or pounds, but in pure, unadulterated history. These few simple things had seen more action and have been better wielded than any sword he’s ever seen. Generations of hands had smoothed other the deceptively complex engravings along their ivory ; hundreds of fingers had given them their purpose, a purpose as noble as it was down-to-earth, a testament to the ability of human beings to take violence and death and make it a symbol of family and life.

Underneath the display case, a simple plaque read: “Authentic prehistoric sewing needles. Found in France, around 100 000 B.C.E. Graciously offered to the library of Smalltown by Manuel Dians.”

“How nice of him,” muttered Pitch.

More than a hundred thousand years old… What were the odds they would find any other object as ancient, as full of memories?

“So? Mr. Pitch?”

Pitch shook himself. He realized Jamie had probably been babbling for a while, no doubt congratulating himself for remembering his school trip to this very place not too long before. Pitch didn’t see how it was such a feat. It was not as if the “museum” had many other pieces to remember it by. The needles were its lone jewel.

Reluctantly, he muttered: “They’ll do, I guess.”

Jamie beamed. It almost hurt Pitch, to see him so happy, and he gritted his teeth. He really should not be in the vicinity of _merriment_.

“How do we take them? Do we break the glass?”

Now the kid sounded so eager it almost made Pitch laugh. Almost. He settled for a snigger. “Didn’t take you for a criminal, boy.”

“I’m ready to break all the rules – except hurting people – so that my friends will be safe.”

“Aren’t you a wordy one.”

“I don’t see any wires!”

Pitch sighed. “Do your worst.”

“Yay!” And with that, Jamie brought his hand onto the glass.

Which obviously disagreed with his criminal ambitions.

“Ow!”

Pitch raised his eyebrows. “Trouble?”

Jamie shook his hand. “I think the glass is too thick.”

“Indeed, you’re thinner than it is. I’m surprised I can’t see through you.” With a half-annoyed, half-smug growl, Pitch pushed the boy aside. “Go turn off the lights, and let me handle this.”

“Okay.”

A bit sheepish, Jamie did as he was told, then wandered off in the purely library section of the museum. There were a few shelves, a few tables, a few chairs… and a grand total of two computers – one for the librarian, the other for the visitors.

Jamie sat down in front of the librarian’s computer, and turned it on.

He wasn’t sure how long it would took Pitch to grab the needles, hopefully without breaking the glass so that their criminal prowess would live on for eternity engraved in Smalltown’s history books. Fortunately, the computer was a new model, much faster than the poor excuses for technology he used at school; it fired up very quickly and Jamie found himself facing the familiar search screen in no time.

Giddy with anticipation, he typed: “demon of light”, and hit Enter.

In the split second it took for the results page to load, he noticed something else, sprang up from his chair, pressed a button, and sat back down.

Then he started clicking.

“What are you doing?”

Pitch had slid into the room, hand closed around the three bone fragments.

“Do you really think we have time to _browse_?” he sputtered indignantly.

Jamie kept on clicking. Pitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s that noise?”

He glided over to the over side of the big desk and picked up a small but consistently growing pile of freshly printed pages. “ _Really?_ ”

“We need all the info we can get!” explained Jamie. “I don’t have time to read it all, so I figure we’ll do that later, in the cave.”

Pitch glanced at one of the pages, and snorted. “Most of that is rubbish, boy. Maybe you plan to waste your time, but I don’t.”

Jamie kept clicking.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Pitch huffed – sounding very much like Jamie’s grandmother, but Jamie wasn’t going to tell him that – and started to stride away. “Very well. Keep printing Wikipedia. I will be outside, _not_ waiting for you.”

And he swooshed off.

Jamie’s fingers froze briefly over the mouse. As much as he wanted this information, he didn’t want to be left behind, and Pitch sure as heck didn’t seem inclined to be patient. Jack wouldn’t leave, but Jack was currently in trouble, all because Jamie hadn’t paid enough attention.

Jack had also made that Pitch-snowman.

Jamie got up.

And just as he got up, a fragment of a sentence caught his eye: “… have been at war against the demons of light.”

He shifted the mouse. The entire sentence appeared: “The moon is said to have been at war against the demons of light.”

Still standing, he typed in a new search: “moon against demon of light”. Showing up in first place, above links about esoterism and Wiccan spells, was a page simply titled: “Moonlight”. A bit disappointed, Jamie clicked on it nonetheless.

The browser opened on a extremely minimalistic site, visibly made of only one page, seemingly a poem, its outline slightly blurry against the silver-colored background. He read the first line in a whisper, glanced at the title again. It wasn’t “Moonlight”, as he’d originally thought. That seemed to be the name of the site. The title of the poem was a much stranger word.

A few seconds later, Jamie burst from the front doors, holding a good book-worth load of papers against his chest.

He looked around nervously. “Mr. Pitch? Pitch Black? Where are–”

“Stop saying my name out loud!”

Jamie jumped. Pitch’s eyes had just opened inside a shadow, glinting yellow in the uncertain light of the streetlamps.

“Sorry.”

A long grey hand gestured dismissively at the papers. “Did you finally dry the printer out?”

Jamie shook his head. “Where do we go now?”

“There’s an abandoned house up that street. I trust you’re not afraid of spiders?”

Jamie thought Pitch looked entirely like he meant the opposite of what he’d just said.

“No. I kinda like them.”

Pitch sighed. “Well, I’ll just try to make them bite you then. Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

Dawn was still a few hours away.

Pitch, inspired by the dilapidated interior of the house – its last owner, he told Jamie, died inside a few weeks before, and his body was not discovered before it had started to rot (Jamie had not managed to decipher if he was lying or not) –, started to melt and bend shadows again. Seeing the obsessive, almost feral look on his face, Jamie did not dare to interrupt him, or even to watch him too closely. Instead, keeping an eye open in case the bogeyman decided to use him as a surprise guinea pig, he sat down on the floor and started to read.

Predictably, as Pitch had guessed, none of the pages he had printed contained any information that seemed useful. Whatever was interesting turned out to be something Pitch already knew, and the rest was either pure fiction or utter nonsense.

There _was_ this poem, though…

Once again, Jamie found himself reading it quietly. It was short, at least.

_“Shrewdly raking through their fears_

_It weaves and burns and laughs_

_Piercing the world with searing spears_

_With mocking epitaphs_

_Often the cool light of the moon_

_A ray of hope will send_

_But still the demon’s will, immune_

_Forever will not bend.”_

It stopped there. Jamie thought it rather abrupt, for an ending. It felt like the poem was part of a longer one, or a story, like one of those old, long, almost unreadable medieval songs. If he’d been the one writing it, certainly it wouldn’t have ended with the demon winning.

Then again, he wasn’t a good liar.

His eyes went back to the title. There was no author, no precision about the origin of the poem. It might have been a translation, but taken from what, Jamie didn’t have a clue. The title word seemed everything but English. Perhaps…

“Mr. Pitch?”

No answer.

Jamie looked around. Since there was no electricity in the house, he had opened a window – shaking off the big, fat spiders that had build themselves a home there, and bitterly disappointing Pitch by not screaming and running around like a headless chicken – and had settled as best he could in order to read under the light of the nearby streetlamp. The rest of the room was still plunged into inky darkness. He couldn’t see golden eyes anywhere.

Either the bogeyman had teleported elsewhere, or he was sulking. Or… trying to find a way to frighten him.

Jamie raised his voice as much as he dared.

“Mr. Pitch, what does a demon name sound like?”

A deep shadow, in the creepiest corner of the room, bristled. “Why does it matter? You’re not going to _invent_ it.”

“I just want to know, that’s all. Lots of syllables? A few ‘o’s and a little bit of ‘a’?”

Now he could see the yellow, cat-like eyes glaring at him. They seemed farther from the ground than before. “Generally, yes. Demonic names are as twisted as their brains, they generally don’t settle for anything less than three syllabes and a mouthful of vowels.”

“Like ‘Romrothea’?”

There was a silence. Then Pitch strode out of his shadow, looming over Jamie who suddenly felt much smaller than before.

“What did you just say?”

Wordlessly, Jamie handed over the poem.

He saw Pitch’s eyes widen. “Where did you find that?”

“On the Internet. On a site called ‘Moonlight’.”

“…… _Sonofabitch._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my birthday present from myself to you all, an update. As you can probably guess, the end is near. Thank you for your continued readership, if there is such a word.


	10. The fear returning

They were ready.

No, that was bullshit. They weren’t ready at all. They wouldn’t have been less ready if the entire place had been doused with gasoline and decorated with fireworks. The only thing in the world that was less ready than they were was the small mouse Pitch had suddenly noticed hiding in the cave and had decided against shooing away just in case the demon pulled an elephant and tried to climb up the walls in fright.

For some reason, he thought that particular scenario was less than likely.

Jamie looked proud of himself, though. He had cleaned the cave, thrown away anything that might be set on fire except for his clothes (for which Pitch was grateful), and spent the last few hours learning the summoning incantation by heart while Pitch fretted over the circle. Now, all preparations over, they stood outside of said circle, contemplating the complex design of lines and curves and hoping every single one of them was in the right place.

“Are you sure you are ready?” asked Pitch, again.

Jamie sighed. It was the third time in a row he was asked this question. He was starting to believe Pitch didn’t trust him.

“ _With this sacred circle,_ ” he recited, _“these sacred words, I summon you,_ name of demon, _by light and darkness, and I bind you,_ name of demon, again, _by darkness and light, until my will is done and your will is surrendered._ ”

“You didn’t scand the last part right.”

“Yes I did! I emphasized the “my” and “your” just like you told me! Come on, you know I’m ready! And anyway, we can’t wait much longer. Sooner or later something horrible will happen to Jack, or to my sister, or the others! We _have_ to try it, even if it’s our last chance!”

It really annoyed Pitch how right Jamie was sometimes. It reminded him of Jack. He didn’t like being reminded of Jack right now.

“Besides, it’s night already, and you said he will –”

“ _It_ will.”

“– be weaker when it’s dark. Plus it looks like it’s going to rain, wouldn’t it be even weaker then?”

“It might get slightly wet, yes.”

“Then it’s the right time! I don’t want to wait anymore, I’m too scared, I want to do something now!… before I lose my nerve.”

Pitch looked down at the boy. His head was lowered, his hands clutching the paper on which he had printed the Moonlight poem, and on the back of which he had painstakingly written the text Pitch had recited to him.

It needed to be the boy reciting the incantation. The ritual was conceived by humans, for humans. Despite his young age, Jamie was the better candidate between them. His fear alone, which he had just admitted to, as naturally as he breathed, as if he wasn’t talking to the creature his fear depended on – this fear alone made him strong. His fear would allow him to see the demon as it was, to not be taken by its guises and its tricks. And humans who fear are angry humans.

Dangerous humans. Humans with will unbending, provided it was well-forged.

Pitch suspected Jamie’s will had been very well-forged indeed.

Reluctantly, feeling the weight of every single second of doubt on his shoulders, Pitch stepped back. Jamie was right. There was no delaying this anymore.

It was showtime.

 

* * *

 

Jack drew back, cradling his hand.

It was hopeless. No matter what he did, how long he held his frost and how cold he made it, on how wide or how small an area, the cage didn’t bend, even less break. The floor was thick stone, all he would gain from icing it would be a nice, tiny skating ring. He had never wanted an igloo so much in his entire life.

On top of it all, he was starting to feel ill. It was a novel sensation. He could not remember ever being ill even as a human, although it certainly happened once or twice; he’d given enough colds to people – accidentally, of course, an unfortunate but benign consequence of having fun with Jack Frost – to know how often and easily they appeared. It was the heat, he knew. Just like the demon of light was less powerful at night, surely a creature born in icy waters like him could not be asked to bathe in a virtual lava pit for too long.

He looked down, for what might be the hundredth time, and stared darkly at the blisters on his fingers. Even his healing gifts had a limit, it seemed. He was even starting to lose his strength – his frost came more slowly, more sluggishly, and he felt more and more tired each time he summoned it. He felt like going into a deep, deep sleep – and he knew sleep would have been out of his reach even if he tried for it. His eyes were burning, his throat felt raw. And worst of all, was the brutal, endless fear gnawing at his stomach.

The demon had come back only once.

“You’d be happy to learn you will not stay in this cage for much longer.”

“Fantastic. I was hoping for a room with a view. Any kind of view, really; even a good panorama on Dumpster Street would be enough. Do I get a free breakfast with it?”

“ _I’m_ getting the breakfast.”

“I presume you’re planning on having it well done? Or is ‘burnt to a crisp’ an official cooking term? I believe the French for it is ‘ _carbonisé_ ’, if you want to sound cool doing it. Ah, no, wait, ‘cool’ might not be the right word, my bad –”

“‘Cool’ is absolutely the right word, in this instance.”

Jack wondered how anyone could make the word “cool” sound so sinister. He also wondered if the monster thought him stupid enough not to have understood where it was going with all this. It was looking at him with a weird glint in its eyes, waiting for his reaction. Jack decided to be a model brat and give it none.

“So is the Jack-barbecue going to take place at dawn or at dusk? I’d like to revise my nonexistent will beforehand, if you don’t mind.”

The demon bristled infinitesimally. Jack held back a smirk. _Good job, Jack. Take your victories where you can._

“It will be dawn. Next dawn to be precise.”

Jack felt the heat close around him, an almost palpable coffin. One night. That’s all he had left, one night – and no news from Pitch, from Jamie, from Jamie’s friends, from _anyone_. His powers fading, his staff gone, his horizon shut, nothing but the burning bars of that cursed cage. And the fear, of course. He clung to it mentally. If he was so afraid, surely that meant Pitch was still alive and well, that he was still gaining power, getting ready to fight?

_Yeah, right. Remember how he looked when you left? Nobody’s less ready than he is._

_He’s better than he thinks. I trust him. I have to trust him._

The demon was adding something, and Jack had to focus through the heat – funny how it was almost physically painful now – to hear it.

“… decided to burn your staff alongside you. This way I will gain all your power at once. I will, of course, out of respect for your courage, allow you a respite tonight. I will lower the heat and switch off some of the lights to rest your eyes.”

There was a moment of silence. Jack didn’t dare to move, in case a shiver or a glance might betray his rising hope. Less heat, meant a possible escape. Less lights, meant shadows – a way to be reached, or to reach out. He didn’t need all that much, he was sure of it; he would think of something…

“I am joking, of course.”

Jack had to close his eyes as several more lamps were suddenly lit, extremely white light almost burning his retina. The heat seemed to increase, although he didn’t know if it was the result of the demon’s will or the fever burning his foolishness away. Why did he have to surrender to hope, when he knew too well how crafty the creature was?

Still, he couldn’t accept his fate with his eyes closed. Opening his eyelids, he gave the human-like entity the fiercest glare he could summon.

It probably wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

_Bunny used to say you glared like a koala._

_Yes. Yes he did. And I’m proud to be now koala-glaring at this thing._

The demon didn’t seem too phased.

“I will leave you now. As you have learned, I need my beauty sleep. Good night, Jack Frost.”

And it left. Just like that.

And since then, Jack had tried everything, in vain.

The heat throbbed around him, seemingly unending. The lights were everywhere, blinding. He felt hollow.

_Hollow_ …

There was not much space in the cage. Enough for him not to be forced against the bars, barely enough to move around. Jack couldn’t help thinking the cage had been built with someone taller in mind, but not someone much broader. There was nothing in it. It was just a cage.

Jack knew now that he could not break out. So maybe it was time to try a break _in_.

He knelt down in the middle of the cage. Closing his eyes, he summoned all memories of fresh winter nights and cool spring waters. He felt the sweet coldness of magic climb up his arms. He spread his fingers, and from his extended palms came a renewed burst of frost. He directed it to the ground and, face stone-set in concentration, called forth a specific form. It has four sides and a bottom, sharp angles glinting in the light… and nothing inside. Slowly, layer by layer, pouring all he had into making sure it wouldn’t melt, couldn’t melt, he built a frost pyramid.

He stopped only after a minute or two; he had almost no strength left. But he could be proud of his work, the little pyramid, at best the size of a small goat – or of a big cat –, seemed to be holding, for now. Quickly, he took off his sweater and used it to cover the thing before curling up above it.

It was a crap shoot if he’d ever seen one. The sweater was as cold as he was, hopefully protecting his diminutive building from the heat, and from the cameras’ perspective he must have looked as if he was simply hugging his sweater in the fetal position. As for what he was really doing…

He looked down at the pyramid. There, right near his head, was a tiny little hole, the only one. If he had put his eye against it, he knew he would have seen only darkness. The pyramid was hollow, and as such, full of shadows. No light would touch it until it was open.

Jack huddled as close as he possibly could, sending the remnants of his energy into it, keeping it safe. He put his mouth against the hole and started whispering, as clearly as he could. He didn’t say much, only his name and an adress. A chance, really, the demon settling down in Burgess. In no other town he would have been able to recognize the settings from what little he could see and hear as he was brought there. Now he only had to repeat it, again and again and again – and hope someone would hear.

 

* * *

 

“… and I bind you, Romrothea, by darkness and light, until my will is done and your will is surrendered.”

Pitch wondered who ever thought up the saying: “the calm before the storm”. He’d never known something less calm than a pre-storm moment. The sky always felt heavy and foreboding, a full atmosphere of delayed threat. Like now. As the circle drawn on the ground briefly flared up with magical energies, a lid of silence closed upon the cave. Jamie and him kept absolutely still, absolutely not calm. Pitch could see Jamie’s hands trembling.

A few seconds went by.

Pitch almost started to unwind. The ritual had failed – fortunately, without any casualties. They could let go of that silly idea –

The circle flared once more, and this time, something appeared.

Pitch took a step back.

It was the demon.

He had expected it, of course – hopes nonwithstanding. What he had _not_ expected, though, and he really should have, was that the demon would not show up in its human guise, but in its natural state. The ritual must have wrenched it away from its artificial flesh. Pitch remembered, clearly, how huge it was, but his memories paled in front of the real thing. The demon’s snarling head touched the cave’s ceiling, its gigantic double body almost filled the entire place – leaving no room to run away. If Pitch’s shadows failed him now… if he failed them…

Pitch saw the flash of fury in Romrothea’s eyes.

Then the flash of fear.

It instantly made things better.

“Jamie, go on, we don’t have all night!”

The demon snarled, turned to the boy who, hands clenched shakily by his sides, started reciting.

“Romrothea, binded by my will, I order you –”

Lifting a colossal paw, Romrothea struck.

To Pitch’s amazement, Jamie didn’t move. He flinched badly, hunching his shoulders as if to prepare for the blow, but he didn’t run, he didn’t fall, he didn’t even take a step back. He kept on talking even as the frightful claws raked on the invisible barrier sealing the circle shut.

“ – leave this place called Earth, never to return unless you are summoned. Such is my will and my bidding.”

The demon opened its mouth.

“Now, listen–”

Jamie looked at it. “Yeah, no.”

And with one precise, horizontal swipe of his hand, and by now it was not trembling anymore, the needle firmly clenched between his fingers, he completed the banishment ritual.

The demon disappeared immediately.

It was almost frightening, how quick it happened. One moment it was there, rage spitting from its maw, the next the cave was wide and empty. Nothing stirred. There wasn’t even a remnant of sulfur in the air.

Jamie looked at the bare summoning circle.

He blinked.

“It’s really gone?”

Pitch nodded wordlessly. He felt almost… disappointed. What he _mostly_ felt was elation, yet there was no point denying it hadn’t gone exactly as he had hoped it would. It was selfish of him, not to mention extremely stupid, but he had envisioned another kind of ending for this nightmare than him standing helplessly on the side while a mere human boy – especially _this_ boy – did all the work. Granted, they had prepared the ritual together and without him Jamie wouldn’t have known what to say and what to do, but…

It wasn’t the kind of thing that would impress Jack.

It wasn’t the kind of thing that brought forgiveness.

Now if things had been more complicated, if he had had to use his shadows, to fight, then maybe –

At that moment, four things happened in quick succession.

The first was that Jamie had started to run to Pitch and Pitch realized, with a profoundly unwelcome rush of terror, that the boy wanted to hug him.

The second was the summoning circle suddenly flaring back to life.

The third was Pitch bitterly asking himself: _Why did I think that?_

The fourth was the demon reappearing.

The storm had come in the end.

 

* * *

 

They froze completely, the human boy and the bogeyman.

The demon’s necks bent down, drawing its ugly bloated head to Pitch’s level.

“Fun fact about demonic rituals, gentlemen…”

Pitch and Jamie felt its breath, foul with unnatural heat.

“… it never works properly if you can’t say the name right!”

With a roar, the creature straightened up, and a formidable burst of light erupted from its skin, illuminating the entire cave, dissipating its deepest shadows.

Romrothea smirked, eyes blazing. “Nowhere left to run.”

It lowered its gaze. “But first…”

With one sweep of a tail, it tried to erase the markings on the ground – only to growl in anger as they stayed put.

Seeing it momentarily distracted, Pitch seized Jamie by the collar of his shirt and threw him toward the back of the cave, away from the demon – and it was no easy feat because the bloody kid was _heavy_ now –, while thanking the world in general that he had had the bright idea to draw the circle in permanent marker.

Not that there was much more to thank the world for.

“Try again, I’ll distract him!” he hissed.

And he turned to the demon.

On the plus side, it was nighttime – the demon was in its weakest natural state, unable to create the same kind of gigantic fireballs that had destroyed the North Pole. It was also raining; Pitch could hear the sound of droplets hit the ground outside. The circle couldn’t be erased unless the demon got hot enough to melt stone – which it wouldn’t, not in that weather – and all Jamie had to do was get the pronounciation right.

On the other hand, the demon was still much more powerful than Pitch, Pitch had no neighboring shadows to draw from… and all Romrothea had to do to avoid another banishment was to step outside the circle.

Which it was doing right now.

Pitch had never been so angered at somebody’s smarts before. The demon was going right for Jamie, who had started reciting again.

_Well, fuck it._

Pitch jumped on the closest neck and stuck his fingers into its eyeballs. The heat seared his skin and he hissed in pain, but kept at it, ducking then kicking at a paw that came up to rip his arm off. Pitch was quick, he’d always been, but the demon could almost match him, and there was the heat and the fact that it was so much bigger than him and how clearly he remembered those claws tearing into him all those centuries earlier –

Pitch gritted his teeth and held on. A claw grazed his shoulder, he shrugged it off.

The demon roared, a scream of pure rage. It was not playing anymore.

 

* * *

 

In his corner, huddled, trembling, Jamie gaped at the sight of the bogeyman he had once been afraid of, struggling to hold back the creature he had once, for some inexplicable reason, trusted. He could see terrible blisters bursting on Pitch’s pale skin, could almost smell the scent of burning flesh. It was almost familiar now; he thought of Jack, too, facing the demon, and losing. Being taken away, alongside Sophie, Cupcake and the others.

As the demon roared, its monstrous light flaring, and finally threw Pitch away, the bogeyman hitting a nearby wall with a dull sound, Jamie felt the terrible fear settle for ever inside of him. There it was, the monster to truly be feared, bearing down on him with teeth and claws ready to disembowl, tear and destroy. It was ancient, its power immense, far beyond human perception, it had stepped outside of the circle, and it was going to kill him, set him on fire if it could. He knew now how to pronounce its name.

The clarity of fear came too late.

 

* * *

 

Jack was almost alseep on his little pyramid. He was still mumbling the name and the adress, but it was mechanical now. He had heard nothing, not a whisper nor a purr. Heat always made him drowsy, and it was so tempting to just stop and let go. He couldn’t. He kept whispering.

It was several hours later, it seemed – it might only have been minutes –, when he heard the most wonderful sound.

He started, lifted his head, and listened.

Here it was again, a sweet chirping that could only belong to one being.

He jumped up like a uncoiling spring, almost gripping the burning bars in his haste and anticipation. His aching eyes swept the room, he saw nothing, but he _had_ heard it.

“Baby Tooth! Baby Tooth, is that you? I’m here!”

He didn’t dare call out, not really; it was just another whisper, just in case the demon was still awake and watching.

He still had to choke down a shout of pure joy as the tiny form of the tooth fairy fluttered into the room through the closed door.

“It _is_ you!” he breathed out, almost in tears. He was so _tired_. “Oh you can’t imagine how happy I am to see you!”

She flew up to him, babbling ninety miles per hour, and zoomed right back through the door, before reappearing again – and the door opened behind her, and surely Jack had fallen asleep and was dreaming, because this certainly couldn’t be real…

North, Toothiana, Bunny stepped into the room, all bigger than life, and all gloriously alive – if a bit bruised and weary – and all immediately rushed up to the cage.

“Jack! Are you alright? We were so worried!”

“Did that beast do anything to you? I swear I’ll bury it alive!”

“This is nasty cage to lock Guardian in. The fiend will regret it!”

Baby Tooth slipped through the bars and cuddled up to Jack, chirping softly. He held her close and looked at his fellow Guardians in wonder. Already Bunny had discovered the mechanism that powered up the cage and had taken care of it with a swift blow of his boomerang, and as soon as the heat went down, a hole appeared underneath Jack, swooping him down and up and right in the middle of his tiny, brilliant group of friends.

“Guys, I can’t believe you’re here! How did you find me? Where have you been? Even Baby Tooth didn’t know about you when we met her last! And – where’s Sandy?”

Toothiana smiled. “Don’t worry, he’s outside.”

“Yes, we thought it would be good to have lookout tonight!” North bellowed. Jack had half a mind to tell him a lookout wouldn’t be so useful if they were all so noisy, but he didn’t have the heart to do anything else than hug the Guardians – even Bunny – as strongly as he could.

“Anyway, the thing isn’t here for now,” Bunny added. “Gone who knows where. We figured it was the right moment to get you.”

“But how did you know I was there? And how did you survive the North Pole?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” said Toothiana as the Guardians started leading him out of the room.

“I’d like a short version, then.”

“It was elves and yetis that saved us!” said North proudly.

“Yeah, can you believe it?” muttered Bunny. “There we were, buried under a ton of trash –”

North huffed loudly.

“Sorry, mate, but once the demon was finished with the place, it was just trash. So anyway, we were dying down there–”

“He’s exaggerating, we were badly injured but not that injured –” Toothiana added.

“ _And_ I was trying to get a tunnel to open except there was too much rubble and too many broken toys and the like in the way–”

“Yes. It was so sad. So sad,” said North. “And I didn’t have any snowglobes left. Oh, by the way, Jack –”

He ducked into a nearby room and reappeared just as swiftly, holding out a familiar staff.

“I thought I’d seen it when we were heading to your room.”

Jack grabbed it, flooded with intense relief. He couldn’t believe the luck – the demon hadn’t even dented it. Touching it alone gave him some much-needed new strength.

They walked on.

“We must have stayed buried there for a day or two at least,” said Toothiana, “until the elves and the yetis–”

“Mostly the yetis,” said Bunny. “The elves were too busy trying to built a sandcastle out of the debris, remember?”

“Yetis have always been wonderful help,” said North in glowing pride.

“And the demon didn’t care about them,” said Bunny, “so it left without hunting them down, that helped too. So they dug us out, helped us with our nastiest injuries – I had a broken leg by the way, have you ever seen what a broken leg does to a rabbit? it’s the worst thing, mate, I swear –”

“But we didn’t stay there long, we left the North Pole as soon as we could,” Toothiana went on. “It was too dangerous going back to any of our places, you understand, so we just… kept out of sight. As you did with Pitch, from what we’ve learned.”

“Yes, Pitch – have you seen him?”

“No, Jack.”

“Who told you where to find me then?”

“She did.”

They had finally stepped out of the house taken over by the demon. It was a manor more than a house, a big building full of mostly empty rooms and lots of stairs; of course Jack’s room had been the most isolated. But now there were standing in the little garden just flanking the street, it was raining, and Sandman was there, busy petting a dark, feline shadow perched on a low wall.

Jack ran to him. “Sandy! I thought you were dead!”

But as Sandy turned, Jack stopped in his tracks.

On one side, the short, stout Sandman looked the same as he had always been. But on his right side, the sand was hardened, petrified in a sickly, painful-looking approximation of what he once was. He waved at Jack, and Jack realized his smile couldn’t spreak through his whole face, nor could he move his right arm. The rain was running over him, wetting the magic sand, but it didn’t alter the aspect of the ruined side. Even on his left there were spots of dark, ugly glass.

Toothiana smiled sadly. “He was a lot worse when we found him. He couldn’t move at all for weeks, we weren’t even sure he was alive. When the cat found us –”

“Neferket?” Jack looked at the shadow, who blinked slowly at him.

“No, it was another cat, a normal grey one. It watched us a few nights, then disappeared, and next time he came back he was not alone.”

“Bast,” said Jack, understanding.

Sandman tried to nod, frowned at the stiff, aborted movement, and waved his good hand unhappily.

“He can’t use his sand normally, not even to talk,” said Bunny, darkly.

“Oh, Sandy, I’m so sorry.”

“Bast helped, but she couldn’t do much. She got rid of a lot of glass, but couldn’t do anything for the deepest damage. She told us what you and Pitch were doing, and that Neferket had just come to her with a message from you–”

“So you _did_ get my message! Clever girl!” Jack bent down to pet the shadow cat. Neferket ducked, looked at his hand with suspicion, then royally extended her neck for a good scratching.

“So she told us where you were, said sorry she couldn’t come herself, Neferket guided us here, and here we are,” North concluded. He was about to add something, but Toothiana cut him off anxiously.

“Jack, remember how you healed me when I got burned?” she asked. “Could you do the same for Sandy?”

Jack looked down at the injured Guardian, who looked hopefully up at him. He felt healing sand was very different than healing flesh. Then again, it had worked on Pitch, who was half made of shadow. Maybe…

He extended his hand, willed a layer of cool frost forward. As his fingers touched the misshapen glass, he felt it freeze and become brittle. He stopped, afraid of hurting him further, but Sandy clumsily motioned him to go on, and he did, surrounded by the watchful, concerned Guardians. The frost spread unchecked, and the glass abruptly broke.

As Jack jumped back, an apology already on his lips, he watched in wonder as sand suddenly spurted from the open glass, and as the bits of ruined glass-sand fell on the ground, Sandman’s golden skin started to reform.

Bit by bit, layer by layer, the frost broke the glass and liberated the sand underneath. As long as it had seemed, it took very little time, and Sandy was whole again. The first thing he did as Jack stepped back was to create a hat to take off to him – just before the other Guardians half-crushed him with hugs.

Jack grinned weakly. “Good to have you back, Sandy.” He found himself wobbling slightly on his feet.

Baby Tooth chirped in worry.

“No, don’t fret, I’m all right. Just tired. It’s been a long night. Did you see any of the children? Are they all right?”

“I sent the fairies, they’re all in bed and s            leeping, except Jamie,” said Toothiana. “Do you know where he is?

“I think he’s with Pitch.”

“Poor guy,” snickered Bunny. “And where is Pitch?”

“I’m not sure. Did you see the demon?”

“No, he was gone when we arrived,” said Toothiana. “Neferket seemed sure there wasn’t any danger.”

“We saw tanning beds in there, but no demon,” North added. “Maybe it had business elsewhere.”

Jack felt himself pale. The demon wouldn’t have interrupted its “beauty sleep” and left Jack unguarded… unless it had good incentive to. Incentive like Pitch.

“I think it’s after Pitch and Jamie!” he shouted suddenly. “Neferket! Do you know where Pitch is?”

The shadow cat swished her tail, jumped to the ground, and started to run.

 

* * *

 

Jamie couldn’t move. Never before had he felt so terrified and so hopeless. What could he have done, anyway? The demon’s monstruous bulk seemed to fill the entire cave. There were no exits except the one directly behind it. He had no weapon, no magical powers. He was no hero. He was just a young boy. He had failed.

Still he stood almost defiantly, nevermind his trembling legs, watching the demon come forward and lift one of its paws. He saw the flames start to form between the creature’s claws, knew that soon they would be set upon him like hungry wolves, and he stood. There was nothing else to do.

Except maybe stare as a think string of black matter suddenly sprang from behind the monster and whipped around one of its necks.

“?!” was all Romrothea had time to say before it was pulled off balance and almost fell to the ground.

Grunting, it looked back to see Pitch Black holding onto the end of the shadow rope for dear life, one leg braced against a protruding rock. Behind him, the entrance of the cave let a small tide of shadows in, left unchecked by the demon advancing to the back of the cave. As Romrothea pulled back sharply, incensed to be lassoed like a cow, Pitch was swept off his feet. His right hand left the rope and grazed the darkened ground of the cave. When it came back up, the black blade of a sickle intercepted the second head ready to strike.

Romrothea roared. A long cut appeared along its head and neck, following the path of the sickle; and just as it was ready to strike again, it was yanked back once more, for Pitch still had the rope held firm in his left hand. Not wanting to stay too close to the thrashing demon, he leapt backward as soon as he could, double-wielding the sickle and rope. _I must look like the world’s gothiest cow-boy right now,_ he thought wildly. _If only that could make it laugh and lose balance._

Little by little, one jerk of the rope after the other, ducking and sidestepping and leaping away from its jaws and claws, he was taking it back to the circle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie’s tense expression. He hoped the boy was ready to try again. The moment Romrothea was safe inside the circle…

“No!” shouted the demon. With a mighty pull of its muscular bodies, it stepped away from the circle. Pitch thought his arms were going to pop out of his shoulders. Seeing Romrothea brace itself again, he abruptly let go of the rope. The demon, taken off guard, crashed onto the ground; before it could get up, Pitch took back the rope and weaved it as fast as possible around the big meaty legs and the thrashing tails; but just as he was about to pull on it again, a claw caught on it and slashed it cut. Pitch barely had the time to duck before jaws almost slammed shut around his head. He retaliated with his sickle, missed, had to roll out of the way of one set of claws, then another set. One tail wacked him between the shoulderblades as he was getting up and he fell again. Before he could get his breath back, Romrothea had him pinned to the ground with one of its huge paws.

“Enough of this!” it growled.

Then, something small, dark and fluffy jumped right on its head and raked its own claws everywhere it could. Pitch, dazed, recognized Neferket.

His first impulse was to tell her to flee; his second was to wonder how a cat could do so much damage. The third was to scramble upright and strike get hold of the rope again, but as he did several other ropes, made of beautifully luminous sand, coiled around the necks and legs of the demon. He looked around and thought, in his confusion (did he have a concussion?), that he had never seen Sandman look so revengeful.

That was just before he saw Jack and thought: _No,_ he _wins this round._

 

* * *

 

In normal circumstances, Romrothea might have stood a chance.

These were not normal circumstances.

Sandman, Jack Frost, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, they all appeared out of nowhere – at least it seemed to the demon, although they only really ran through the cave entrance – and attacked at the same time, with a unity it surely would have admired if it hadn’t been the one they teamed up on. The Guardians were weary, some still sore, and one very, very tired, but they were also seething with anger, determination and a certain quality of fear, all of which led their charge straight and true.

Sandy roped the beast in, taking a page out of Pitch’s book, and between the both of them they started to pull it back, thrashing and roaring, inside the circle.

Jack threw all the cold and the fury he had left into the demon’s face, a lightning storm of frost who ripped some of its skin apart and left it partially blind. He had seen Romrothea about to rip Pitch’s throat open, and it fueled something inside him he hadn’t felt for a long while.

North, Bunny and Toothiana kept to the edges of the circle, keeping the demon in, pushing back each bit of it that was trying to keep outside of the markings.

And Jamie, seeing an end of tail still struggling to keep out, ran up to it and stabbed it with the needle.

Romrothea screamed with rage. Being taken down by the Guardians was one thing, by Pitch Black another, but by that _boy_? Yet the prick of the needle, the instrument used to bind it to the circle, the instrument far more ancient and far more weaved through the life of men than the sword that was originally used to summon it there, that lone point of pain hurt more than anything else. It was the stab of fear and of anger, the one Romrothea had used for so long against others.

Still it fought, beyond words now, as Jamie, surrounded by his Guardians, started scanding for banishment again, his voice clear and true now around the syllables of its ancient name.

“Such is my will and my bidding.”

The circle flared bright and white. Romrothea vanished.

 

* * *

 

The cave was at once plunged in darkness. Outside the sky was still heavy with rain, almost no moonlight or starlight came through. The only light left came from the glowing dreamsand.

Jamie hadn’t let go of the needle.

“Is it gone?” asked North.

“Yes,” said Jamie. He was absolutely certain of it.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. At its coolness, he recognized Jack.

“You all right?”

“Yes. But I think my clothes are singed. Mother will kill me.”

He heard quiet laughter.

“We’ll take you back to your mum, mate, don’t worry.”

“And next Christmas there will be plenty new clothes for you. Today, you are hero!”

“Yeah, Jamie,” Jack added. “What you did was amazing. I’m proud of you.”

He was going to add something, but he felt the world suddenly crumbling back on him.

“Jack!”

_Oh, don’t worry,_ he thought before he lost consciousness. _It’s just exhaustion. See you all when I wake up._

_Pitch you better be there._

 

* * *

 

He woke up in darkness – darker darkness this time. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted and he recognized, thanks to the pinpoint of light coming through the curtains, that he was in Jamie’s room. It didn’t look like his old childhood bedroom anymore, another sign that he was growing up – but it was still full of his personality, his curiosity. His staff had been set down against the nightstand, carefully. The windows were open behind the curtains, and some cool air came through. It was nice.

He felt the presence at the exact moment it started to disappear.

“No you don’t!”

But it was already too late. Pitch had vanished in the shadows before Jack could reach him. He had not even seen him. It was almost second nature now to notice his presence through senses he didn’t know he had. He waited a few minutes, but the bogeyman didn’t resurface.

He opened the curtains.

It was day. Jamie had left a note. His family and himself were out, a party of some kind – did the idea of it feel as absurd to Jamie as it did to Jack? Then again, a party was exactly what he was going to have as soon as some unfinished business was taken care of. The Guardians had left to pick up the threads of their considerably neglected workload – Jack smiled imagining the fits poor Bunny and North must have. He would go see them later, help them maybe, if it looked like fun.

In the meantime, he had somewhere else to go.

As he left the house, he noticed one last thing. On Jamie’s doorknob, hanging by a thread, was the needle.

 

* * *

 

The tunnel to Pitch’s lair was open. Jack leapt in, thinking centuries must have flown by since he had done it the first time.

He found the rooms in a very similar state than they were during the Guardians’ last visit – but this time, the shadows were alive. He could feel them twisting around him like tormented dancers. There was a single patch of light falling upon the great table. He walked up to it, left his staff there.

“Pitch?”

There was no audible answer, yet he felt the change. Pitch was there. He was listening.

Jack thought he would be wondering about what was going on in Pitch’s head, but he found he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to think about what he was going to say either.

“Pitch, I’m staying. Maybe not here, it’s a little dark and gloomy for me, not full-time, I mean…”

Okay, maybe he should think it through before his mouth ran away from him.

Then again, Pitch was just as dreadful at communication. Complete silence.

 “Oh, you know what I mean. It hurt when I left you. I don’t want that again. So I’m not leaving. What do _you_ want?”

He walked into the deepest darkness he could see.

He thought of the abject fear he once saw in these golden eyes.

“Because I know what I want. I think it’s the same thing.”

He couldn’t see anything. He raised his hands in front of him like a blinded man.

“Hey, come on, don’t make me say it.”

His right hand finally met something. It was the hem of a familiar coat, and underneath, the beat of a familiar heart.

Jack smiled.

“There you are.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here it is, the last chapter! There's a tiny epilogue left, already written, which should be posted at the end of the week. I hope the wait wasn't too much for all of you wonderful readers. I was very unhappy about my early drafts and had to rewrite almost the whole thing. I thank you for your patience!


	11. Never mind the reason

Once upon a time, there were monsters.

People could see the monsters, and as long as they could see them, they could protect themselves. But one day the light blinded them, and they started to forget monsters ever existed. People suffered, as monsters thrived through their ignorance. Until one day, another monster – a rare, good one – rose against them, dimming the light with shadows, sharpening the minds with fear.

It was just one of the stories. There were many, that popped up all over the world, in different ways – but especially in that time and place where the last-known demon of light had briefly reigned. Jack wasn’t sure how it had happened. The Man in the Moon, as always, had nothing to say, and Bast herself stayed vague in her feline secrecy. It was simply so. Stories sprung from emotions, from hope and wonder and fun, from memories, from dreams, and now from fear and relief. While the Burgess kids still remembered Romrothea, no grown-ups did – and yet, somehow, their world reshaped itself around that knowledge. An old holiday became new, and yet, to everyone, it seemed to have been there for ever. Maybe it was because now, it had its own Guardian.

So Halloween it was. Jamie, Cupcake, none of the others thought themselves too old to dress up and go on a new adventure with Sophie. There was no danger, although there was a strong probability of a mischievous frost spirit suddenly spooking them, or something meowing raw from the shadows, where two large yellow eyes, far too big to belong to a cat, would gleam in foreboding delight. It was the ultimate alliance of fun and fear. For one night, even adults could put on costume and go trick-or-treating, and know that monsters were real and should be remembered. For one night, fear was embraced for all the good it could do.

For Jack, it was an anniversary, celebrating those long weeks he spent with Pitch, back then, when they seemed the only ones left in the world. It had been a time of terror and despair, yet he always thought of it fondly. He knew Pitch did too. He was now at his peak – not as powerful as he used to be when he was corrupting Sandy’s work, but powerful enough for hard work to be unneeded, although, being Pitch, he still weaved his shadows with fastidious flair. Yet, even as he had only to snap his fingers to create the worst nightmares out of nothingness, he condescended, each and every time, to step into the fray himself – as long as Jack asked.

And Jack always asked.

 

* * *

 

There was another anniversary, as well. The first day before the first Halloween, Jack had created his own monster.

 

* * *

 

“So, what do you think?”

Pitch glanced up, and shrugged.

“Oh, come on, you’re the only one who can help me here! At least tell me it won’t end in heartbreak. You’re the expert, after all.”

Pitch glared at Jack’s playful smile. “It looks like a giant buoy. I give it ten seconds before a seagulls craps on it.”

“Well, it’ll wash off. And at lest it should float all right. But do you think it looks… friendly?”

“Wait, I’ve changed my mind: it looks like an angry iceberg who _swallowed_ a giant buoy.”

“… You know, you’re right, it _does_ look a little frowny. Hold on.”

In a few gestures, Jack had “un-frowned” his newest creation. Pitch, who had mastered the art of looking _fascinated_ by random grains of sand while really watching his, uh, colleague… friend… whatever, saw the ice-like sculpture glint under the sunlight. Despite the place and the season, the day had been remarkably hot, as if summer had wanted a last hurrah before its long slumber. A puddle might have melted there, but such was the wonder of Jack Frost. He would have any drop of water last an eternity.

“There! It looks much better, don’t you agree?”

Pitch did, reluctantly. There was a real grace to the frost creation, a strangely sweet curve to its mouth. It had stopped looking like an angry buoy and presented itself more like a big, smooth, white-blue cushion. Jack had even gone so far as to draw a number of exquisite patterns upon its neck and back – it looked like soft waves and sunflowery skies. The effect was, admittedly, lovely. Not that Pitch would ever use such a word.

“It… will do, I guess.”

“Great!”

And with that, Jack gave a little pat to the creature’s broad shoulder. It immediately came to life, eyes slowly focusing, neck waving slightly from left to right. This was no brutal birth, just a casual awakening, with Jack stroking its neck.

“Hello, big boy. Or girl. Welcome to your new life!”

Pitch blinked. “Wait. You don’t know what sex it is?”

“How could I know? I don’t go into so much detail. And that way it could be anything!”

“But… what if they…”

“Oh, did you want babies? I didn’t know you were a sucker for family life. Well, if children is what it takes to make you happy–”

“Don’t even finish that thought! I’m already counting the days till Jamie comes of age and I can finally kick him out of my place.”

“Uh, it’s _my_ place, remember? You’re the squatter there. And he’s just hanging around; what kid doesn’t love a great big igloo that also doubles as a haunted castle? He might be growing up, but he still loves to have some fun. Anyway, I’m sure whatever happens will be for the best.”

“What if she doesn’t like it?”

They both looked at it. The creature had heavily hopped up to the water, and was currently busy with gently splashing at it with its vast paddle-like flipper. Each time the water reached its head, it squealed in delight, a sound somewhere between a happy dolphin and an unhappy balloon. Jack was pretty sure the only thing more adorable in this size would be a young elephant sucking its trunk – and he wasn’t ready to bet on it.

Pitch snorted. “Yeah, sure, she’ll hate it.”

Jack grinned. “What shall we call it?”

“Let _her_ call it! It’s not our business. Does it even know how to swim?”

“Well, you’re the one who said it looked like a buoy.”

“I think it should be able to do more than just float if it wants to keep up with her!”

“Oh, it’ll be all right. My frost rabbits can _fly_ , remember.”

The creature was now waddling into the water, still gurgling happily. Its neck curled into an impossible curve, then went suddenly under, thrusting left and right for a few moments before coming back up, skin dripping, jaws open on what looked like a smile. Pitch and Jack watched it play in the shallow waters for a few minutes, until it finally turned its finely-shaped head towards them, a questioning look in its large eyes.

“Yeah, you can go,” said Jack softly. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll be dark, but there’s some wonderful lights down there.”

“Say ‘hi’ to her from us, will you?” added Pitch in a quiet voice.

After a few more seconds of staring, the creature squealed one last time, then went under in a giant splash. For a moment, its strange, rotound body gleamed under the surface like a misshaped arrowhead, before disappearing in the unexplored depths of Loch Ness.

Jack poked Pitch in the shoulder. “Do you have to be so dramatic? ‘Say hi to her from us’, really? We’ll see her soon, it’s a full moon in three days, you know she never misses any!”

“I just wanted to make sure she knows she’s not alone,” grumbled Pitch.

Jack marveled at how much those last few months had changed him. He was certain those words would never have left Pitch’s mouth before – at least not if anyone had been there to hear them.

He sat down next to the sullen bogeyman.

“I know. Being alone sucks.”

Pitch threw him a particularly unsuccessful glower.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t have an off-switch?”

Jack could only laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

A few hours later, long after the sun had set over the deep, still waters of the loch, a song rose towards the sky – a song made of no words, but pure joy, a melody of new beginnings and old, once-forgotten company. Sitting on the beach, leaning into each other with a dark, feline shadow playing with the hem of Pitch’s robes, the two Guardians contemplated change, and acceptance.

The song still played in their minds long after the sun had risen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaargh, in the middle of moving all my stuff from one flat to the next, I had completely forgotten that I hadn't posted the epilogue yet! Please accept my apologies, all of you wonderful readers who have followed this story through and through. You are all amazing and amazingly patient. I hope to be able to write more some day.
> 
> Cheers!


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